On Each Other's Teams
by audreyii-fic
Summary: Jane Foster, college student on a semester abroad in London, fights her way through Philosophy of Quantum Mechanics, dates a golden boy, and gets tutored by a compulsive liar. Which situation is most unsustainable is a matter of opinion. (College!AU. Lokane/Fosterson. The author regrets everything.)
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N**: Oh hai, Loki/Jane/Thor Love Triangle College!AU that was supposed to be a drabble and seems to be barreling towards 10k words! Because reasons! Apparently!_

_Multi-part due to length but still drabble-style, which means minimal research, spit-shine edits, and form over substance. Inaccurate inaccuracies are inaccurate. Also, apologies to **bluepixystyx**, whose request prompted this idea even though it bears absolutely no relationship whatsoever to what she asked for. Oops.  
_

_Angst Threat Level is Orange. Repeat, Orange. And, as always, embrace ALL the tropes._

* * *

** _On Each Other's Teams_**

* * *

Jane meets them both on the same day, though she doesn't realize the significance until much later.

The first meeting comes in _Philosophy of Quantum Mechanics_, a class that would have been considered ridiculous at Stanford but comes as a requirement here because the English seem unnecessarily obsessed with a 'well-rounded education'. Which, fine, but Jane doesn't see how it matters whether or not Newton's discoveries preclude the possibility of free will. Truth is data and data is truth. The rest is window dressing.

She says it aloud, because she does that.

The look on the professor's face makes her realize this will be a very long semester abroad.

For reasons passing understanding — she had been _serious_ — several of her classmates chuckle. And the loudest laugh comes from the back of the room, where a guy with black hair and sharp cheekbones doesn't flinch even a little when Jane turns in her seat to glare at him. All he does is grin wider.

And not in a nice way. _Yes_, the grin says, _I'm laughing **at** you, not **with** you, and I dare you to stop me._

She doesn't, of course. She just takes notes for the rest of the hour, sometimes writing so hard that her pencil scratches through the paper, steaming the whole while.

As though the world isn't governed by natural law.

* * *

The second meeting comes when she hits someone in the parking lot.

* * *

"You're going to jail." The hospital's waiting room is equipped with a vending machine, and Darcy is steadily working her way through each of the unfamiliar snacks. The crunching of the bags makes Jane's teeth grind. "Third day here, and you run over a dude."

"I didn't _run him over_. I grazed him."

"You knocked him over and he whacked his head on the pavement, so I don't think the police are going to care whether you call it a _graze_. Do we have diplomatic immunity or anything?"

"He tripped, okay? Basically he just tripped. And anyway, _you_ were distracting me."

"Yeah, 'cause there was a guy in the crosswalk. The guy you _ran over_."

"I had right of way! The sign said so!"

"But there was a _guy in the crosswalk_. Which I told you."

"You didn't _tell_ me, you _screamed_."

"Same difference."

Jane puts her head in her hands. If living with Darcy Lewis — whom she hadn't even met until the exchange program assigned them to the same apartment, or flat, whatever — is going to be like _this_, the semester won't just be long. It will be _brutal_.

Unless she goes to jail.

Oh, _God_.

Then there is a bag of candy being shook under her nose. "Try one," says Darcy. "I think it's M&Ms or something. Just don't spaz out on me, all right?"

Friendships are built on less than the sharing of chocolate.

* * *

Relationships are built on less than hitting someone with a car.

An hour later, when they let Jane in to see the guy — no broken bones, but a decent concussion — and she explains that, really, the signs said she had right of way, and she's not going to admit liability, and really a concussion isn't _that_ big of a deal, right? And he's fine now! No harm done.

H_e_ winds up apologizing to _her_.

Jane's stunned by this, because if she's being honest it was probably at least a _little_ bit her fault. And furthermore, the guy doesn't seem like the apologizing type… until he announces that not pressing charges is conditional on whether she'll have a pint with him.

"You've just suffered a head injury," the nurse says, all starched severity. "You'll not be drinking for at least forty-eight hours."

Jane should have known then, when he grins at the nurse in the exact same way she'd seen only hours before. _Yes, I heard you, I'm doing what I want anyway, and I dare you to stop me._

They go out for drinks that evening. He kisses her hand goodnight.

And this is how Jane begins dating Thor Odinson.

* * *

Every time Jane goes to philosophy class, the guy in the back is smiling.

No, really. _Every time._

It drives her more than a little crazy, because she can find nothing at all to smile about in this idiotic course. Jane isn't a total stranger to less-than-perfect grades — she'd had to scrape for a B in Global Lit back in freshman year — but those were just general ed requirements. They didn't matter. Not really.

But she's never, _ever_ had trouble in hard science.

If a combination of quantum mechanics and _philosophy_ can even be _called_ hard science.

How dare _anyone_ look amused at a time like this.

* * *

It comes to a head three weeks into the semester, during the first test, when Jane has to fight her way through an essay on Eddington's absurd, insulting, _painful_ take on the Uncertainty Principle. After thirty minutes of suffering, she peeks around the room, checking to see if anyone else is on the verge of either tears or a temper tantrum. She can't be the only one, right? _Someone_ else must hate this as much as she does.

But, no. All the other students are scribbling away diligently, as though indeterminism makes sense. Even the guy in back is…

…reading something out of his hand.

He is _reading something out of his hand._

He is _cheating on the test_.

And he glances up in that very moment, as though he can feel her mounting fury from twenty feet away. Does his expression turn to panic? Does it turn to shame? Does it _at least_ turn sheepish?

No.

He looks right at her, raises his hand, reveals a scrap of paper hidden in his palm — and, with a quick flick of his wrist, somehow makes the note vanish into thin air.

And he grins _again._

_Yes, I'm cheating, you saw it, and I dare you to stop me._

Jane knows, right then and there, that she will fail this test. And it will be _his fault_.

Afterward she finds him waiting in the hallway, leaning casually against the wall as though nothing is wrong. "Is displeasure your natural state of being," he asks, "or is it only between the hours of nine and eleven AM?"

All she wants in the world is to punch him right in his smug face. But she's already managed to avoid arrest once this month, so it's probably better not to tempt fate. "You were cheating," she hisses.

"You'll find that difficult to prove."

"You think? It'll give away your little game when the professor asks you to actually _tell_ him the answers. You can't fake an oral exam, you jerk."

And the guy, this fucking guy, proceeds to explain to her every detail of Eddington's idealist conclusions. And he does it in a way that actually makes _sense_ to Jane's ears.

By the end Jane can barely speak. "You… you… but…"

"Ah, Americans. Always so articulate."

"You're telling me you _knew_ all of this stuff?"

"Of course."

"Then why did you cheat?"

He shrugs. "Why not?"

She stares at him for a solid minute — a solid minute in which he doesn't seem inclined to go anywhere, or do anything, except bask in her impotent rage. "I hate you," she says finally.

"I'm Loki," he replies. "And I believe you're in need of a tutor."


	2. Chapter 2

The next month features more social interaction than Jane has had in the entire course of her life.

There are dates with Thor. Those can involve anything: dinner at a fancy restaurant, a walk through one of the numerous city gardens, a movie with his rambunctious and always energetic friends, a soccer — _football_ — game from the best seats in the stadium. He's got eclectic tastes, which he's willing to tailor to her comfort, and doesn't take Jane long to realize that Thor has money. Not just money, but _money_, the kind where a person doesn't even look at the check before signing. When she asks he shrugs it away like it's nothing, explaining that he comes from blue blood on his English mother's side and business mogulity on his Norwegian father's. To his credit, he doesn't rub his wealth in her face, but it definitely contributes to that _Master of the Universe_ tone he sometimes gets. The tone of someone who's been raised with the world at his fingertips and never taught to appreciate it.

That can irritate her from time to time, as someone whose mounting student debts are forever a dark cloud in the back of her mind. But it doesn't detract from the fact that Thor is unflinchingly honest, unfailingly loyal, and all around a genuinely good person.

Also he kisses like a god.

There is girl-time with Darcy, which Darcy insists upon due to them being roommates and because Americans in England needed to stick together. In spite of having so little in common — Jane's devotion to scientific certainty sails right over Darcy's head, while Darcy's love for changeable international relations makes no sense to Jane — they manage to develop a pretty good, or at least workable, rapport. They eat ice cream; they get really into _EastEnders_; they discuss guys, which actually means Darcy pumps Jane for info about "the muscle-y dude" and overshares about her own regular conquests.

It is unquestionably the most objectively normal friendship of Jane's life. And it fits really well with the days Jane needs to vent at someone before she explodes.

Because _then_ there is _studying_ with Loki.

It takes Jane all of ten minutes in his company to discover that _Why not?_ isn't only about his propensity for cheating — it's an actual lifestyle. Loki does things just because he _can_. They meet in pubs because he insists the key to understanding both philosophy and quantum mechanics lies at the bottom of a glass, and he has this habit of stealing money left on other tables and adding it to their own tip at the end of the night. When Jane protests, he smirks and says the waitress will be making the same amount either way, so they may as well build up a little goodwill. (It works. They always get the best service.) His sleight of hand might be literal magic; once he somehow manages to get shots of whiskey into every pint of bitter at the bar, then swaps the wallets of all the people trying not to fall off their stools. He refers to it as "just a bit of fun" and looks genuinely puzzled when Jane lectures him for being an unprincipled brat. But that doesn't mean anything. Loki can look however he wants.

And these are only the tricks he lets her see. God knows what she misses.

He has a comeback for everything. He always knows which buttons to press. His pranks are mean, his tongue is sharp, his arrogance is appalling. He's a compulsive liar and a kleptomaniac and hands-down the most amoral person Jane has ever met.

She passes the next philosophy test with flying colors.

* * *

"Why stars?"

"Hmm?"

"Why the stars?" Thor points up at the night sky. Tonight he drove them far out of the city at what had to be illegal speeds; now they're laying on the hood of his car in the middle of the countryside and Jane is enjoying her first clear look at the constellations in six weeks. "Why not something on earth?"

Jane puts her hands behind her head. Gemini is glittering tonight. "Because there's so much we don't know about them," she explains. "There's so much left to discover… and all of it can be categorized and explained. It doesn't matter how strange, or ridiculous, or seemingly impossible, there's a correct solution to every equation. Always. Somewhere. We just have to find them."

"_You_ have to find them, you mean." She turns her head to see Thor smiling at her gently, amused, but without a trace of mockery. "Your intent is to solve the secrets of the cosmos."

It sounds so pretentious when someone says it out loud. Still, it's the truth. "That's the plan," she admits.

"You'll do it."

Jane snorts, looking back up at the stars. "You're teasing me."

"I'm not. You're clever. If you decide to explain why the universe is what it is, you will."

"I see. You're not teasing, you're sweet-talking."

"I never sweet-talk women who run me over in parking lots."

She covers her face with her hands. "I _grazed_ you," she says, rolling onto her side.

"And gave me a concussion."

"You tripped over your own feet! That wasn't my fault!"

Thor tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and it sends tingles all the way down her body. "Perhaps I had it coming." Jane frowns at him, and he elaborates: "I've not always been the most… _gracious_ person, Jane. I cannot claim otherwise. But a woman who refuses to apologize for causing a traumatic brain injury has a way of putting one in one's place."

"It was only a _little_ traumatic brain injury," she insists, but there's no holding back the blush. He has a way of making things sound so _romantic_, even concussions. "What about you? Why business?"

Thor shrugs. "One day I will inherit my father's companies and holdings. I had best know what to do with them."

"Oh. That's very… practical."

He chuckles. "It's not searching the heavens, I grant you. But someone must manage life on the ground."

"Life on the ground has never been my strength," she says.

They are silent for several minutes after that — until Jane starts pointing out the different constellations, explaining why they are where they are, how the placement is constant and forever, even in the face of anything else that might choose change. She can't help herself. It's all so _interesting._

"And that's why Orion's down by the horizon at this time of year," she concludes some minutes later.

Thor's expression is warm and deeply indulgent. "My father," he says, "would tell you that the movements are but the trembling of Yggdrasil's branches. Or he would if he spoke anything but Norwegian."

"Do you speak Norwegian too?"

"I do." And Thor places his hand on her waist, pulls her close, and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "_Du er vakrere enn stjernene_, Jane Foster," he says.

It's a good thing the back of his car is roomy, because otherwise they would have made love on the field. She never finds the buttons from her jacket.

* * *

The rules of the study game are this: whenever Jane gets an answer wrong, Loki steals one of her pencils.

For the life of her she can _never_ figure out how he does it: whether in her purse, in her coat, in between pages of her textbook, even stuck in her hair, he always manages to get them. She starts bringing extras; it doesn't matter. By the end of the night the empty pint glass in front of him is a pincushion of rubber erasers, the base a quarter inch of broken graphite. It's _maddening_.

If Jane has at least one pencil left by the end of the session, Loki will spend the next hour teaching her — well, failing to teach her — how to cheat at cards, which he insists is a vital life skill.

If she doesn't, he makes her walk home.

Most nights she walks.

Tonight it is cold and they are two miles from her flat and she's wearing heels. Not to mention she is more than a little drunk. After four blocks her dignity cracks, and she begs: "Let's take a cab. Please. I'll walk next time, I promise."

"Ah, now, that would be in violation of the spirit of the game."

"_You_ made up the game."

"And you agreed to it, did you not?"

"Yeah, but you cheat."

"You've no evidence."

"I don't need evidence. You cheat at everything."

"Ooh. So unkind. And after all I've done for you."

"I'm getting a blister."

"Perhaps you should not have worn such utterly impractical shoes."

"I need them. I'm sick of looking up at you all the time."

Loki chuckles. "You'll _always_ have to look up to me, Jane Foster," he says. "It is the natural state of things. Better to simply accept it and move on."

"I hate you."

"I'm well aware."

They walk — or rather, Loki walks, Jane stumbles — for another two blocks before she asks what she's been wondering for awhile but has never been drunk enough to venture. "You don't tutor anyone else, do you?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

"Mm-hmm. It this jealousy?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I just—" her balance pitches as her heel catches the edge of the sidewalk, and Loki's hand at her elbow steadies her "—I don't understand. You must have _someone_ in your life to hang out with who doesn't dream about whacking you in the face with a beer bottle."

"You dream of me? How interesting."

"You know what I mean. Why do you help me?"

"Why not?"

Her answering snort isn't a ladylike sound, but screw that. He doesn't deserve a ladylike sound. "Whatever. I don't know why I even asked. I think you're allergic to direct questions."

"I wouldn't know, as I've never answered one." He catches her a second time before she trips over a discarded wrapper. "Tell me: why do _you_ choose to spend so much of your time with someone you profess to hate?"

"Because I have to pass this stupid class, and getting help from you is marginally better than offering the professor a blowjob."

"That may be the most flattering thing you've ever said to me. And terribly uncharacteristic. How many drinks _did_ you have?"

"Depends on if you put anything in them."

"I didn't." He sounds insulted, but if Jane knows anything it's that Loki can sound however he likes. "Detest me if it pleases you, but I'd prefer to be blamed for what I've _done_. There's more than enough to choose from."

It's the twinge of guilt that makes Jane suspect more than anything else that she's being played, but she nods. "Okay. Sorry. That wasn't fair." Then she adds: "But you could at least give me your coat. There's nothing in the rules against that."

He looks down at her for a long moment, then exhales and shakes his head. Still smiling. Always smiling. Like the whole world was created to be his own private joke.

His coat is heavy and warm and smells like wool and tea. But he still makes her walk, the jerk.

* * *

The next morning Jane wakes up on her couch with a mouth full of cotton, a head full of snare drums, and a trash can at her side. Darcy's cheerfulness makes her want to murder someone, but then there's coffee and with it hope for the universe.

"So," says her roommate, "I'm guessing the emo-looking-but-still-hot guy who brought you back last night was the asshole tutor?"

"That's him." She's never drinking again, never.

"He fucked with our doorbell on the way out. Dude needs a hobby."

"Fucking with things _is_ his hobby." Jane looks up from her cup of delicious, delicious, black-as-tar nectar of the gods. "What did he do, exactly?"

Darcy presses the buzzer. It dings at an ear-splitting three octaves too high.

Jane throws up into the trash can.


	3. Chapter 3

She should have guessed sooner. It wasn't like being named for Norse gods was a particularly common occurrence. But aside from the fact that they were both unfailingly confident in _everything_ they did, they were different as night and day.

So, no, she didn't see it.

* * *

"This is cheating," she says, staring up at the ceiling, nude and covered in sweat. "I'm surrounded by cheats."

"It is not cheating. It is strategic battle."

"Strategic, my ass."

Thor responds by smacking her lightly on the backside, and Jane bursts into giddy, endorphin-fueled giggles. It's not fair. He's gorgeous, rich, charming, speaks two languages, and spectacular in bed. He shouldn't be allowed to ask her for things at moments like this.

Even his apartment is amazing. These are some very nice sheets.

Still, though, Jane is a student of science, of logic and rationale. Nice sheets and multiple orgasms are not going to turn her head. "How much does she know about me?"

"I told her you were beautiful, clever, and have an absolutely lovely arse."

"That's not what I— oh, my God. You didn't. You didn't, right?"

Thor kisses her hip, chuckling. "No, Jane, I did not tell my mother about any of your more… _earthly_ attributes. But, yes, she does know you hit me with a car."

"She'll hate me. And it was a _graze_."

Another kiss. "There's no need to be frightened of my mother," he says in that tone where he's pretending he's not humoring her. "Not unless she decides you ought to be."

"What about your dad? Would he be there?"

"Ah." He rolls away at that, long legs dangling off the end of the bed. He's _huge_, and she's five-three; how did she wind up hanging out with such tall men? "My father isn't often available. And that's probably a meeting left for a later date."

"That sounds ominous."

"You're not Norwegian. As far as _his_ feelings go there's not much to be done." At Jane's squeak, he adds reassuringly: "He will listen to Mother. And if he ever says anything particularly rude, I'll not translate it to English."

Great. "Anyone else I should worry about?"

"Not unless you include the waitstaff. They _can_ be intimidating at these places." Thor props his chin on his hand and looks up at her earnestly. He can _really_ do earnest. It's the blue eyes. "It's best to just let her have her way, you know. She has been asking to meet you for weeks. If we wait much longer, she's like as not to come over at some random hour in hopes of catching a glimpse of you."

Jane glances down at her extremely naked self. "Some random hour?"

"Yes. And she has a key."

Is this what families are like? Jane doesn't really know. "All right, all right. I'll go. But I'm counting on you to, I don't know, block arrows and lasers."

"I will protect you with my life, my lady," says Thor, just before he kisses his way up her body and makes her see a whole different kind of stars.

* * *

_Magpie on New Street. 9:30. Red notebook, your blue one is sticky._

Jane ignores the text.

First of all, if Loki wants to make plans, he really needs to not announce them fifteen minutes beforehand. Second, he's got to stop using a blocked number, because he's clearly too into sending out commands to which she can't respond.

So, no. She's not going to talk philosophy with the guy she hates the night before she's due to meet her boyfriend's mother. She needs to sleep and hope that when she wakes up she at least _seems_ like the sort of person who can talk about more than gravimetric anomalies.

One skipped study session won't kill her.

It won't kill Loki, either.

* * *

She wears her nicest dress.

Okay, her only dress.

Okay, Darcy's dress.

Jane's not a dress-collecting kind of person. You don't need dresses in labs, or on computers, or out looking through telescopes. You _do_, however, need dresses when you're going to meet your boyfriend's tall elegant haute couture-wearing mother in a restaurant that only has three things on the menu and no prices.

The dress is too short to curtsy in, though, which is Jane's first instinct when Mrs. Odinson stands to greet them. The older woman just has that effect. "Oh, you're wearing the scarf I bought you for Christmas at _last_," she says at once. "I knew it would bring out your eyes."

Thor laughs it off, but there's a tint of blush in his cheeks. This makes his mother smile in a very familiar way — _Yes, I'm going to embarrass you, in fact I'm going to spend this entire meal embarrassing you, and I dare you to stop me._ "Mother," he says, placing a large, warm, very comforting hand against the small of Jane's back, "this is Jane Foster."

"Yes, so I gathered." Her expression softens when she turns to Jane, and she says in all graciousness: "It is a very great pleasure, Miss Foster. I've looked forward to meeting the girl who has been such a good influence on my son."

"Um… thanks. Thank you. Likewise." And now she's babbling. Wonderful. Why couldn't she have been born with some vague skill at social graces, instead of just a knack for reconciling particle data? Why didn't she have a poker face? Why couldn't she be just a _little_ bit more like—

"Loki!"

It's good that Thor's still got a hand on her back, because Jane almost falls over.

Her erstwhile _tutor_ strides up to their table, like nothing's weird, like nothing's wrong, like this million dollar skyscraper dining room was made just for him.

What. The. Hell.

Mrs. Odinson holds out her hands, beaming with pleasure. "You said you weren't coming!"

"Is that what you heard?" He kisses her on the cheek. "I could have sworn I told you I'd be delighted." Loki turns to Thor and nods. "Brother."

Thor looks nearly as flabbergasted as Jane feels, except somewhat less like he's going to throw up. "I… I did not expect to see you here, Loki. Mother didn't tell me she had invited you."

Mrs. Odinson shoots Thor a warning glance. "Of course I invited him," she says. "It's a family dinner."

"Oh, dear," says Loki, pausing in the act of unbuttoning his coat. "Is this awkward? I can leave if my presence is unwanted."

"You're not unwanted, brother. It's only that it's been…" Thor clears his throat. "Forgive me. I am glad you're here. And may I present Jane Foster." He makes a small introductory gesture, with far less confidence than he'd had moments earlier. "Jane, this is my brother, Loki."

"Yeah," Jane manages to say. "We've met."

Loki just raises an eyebrow, like butter would not melt in his mouth. "Have we?"

Jane stares at him. She stares until Loki gets a sudden look of mild recognition and snaps his fingers. "Yes. We share a class at university. Which is it — Medieval Latin in the Modern World?"

"Philosophy of Quantum Mechanics."

"Ah, that's right. It slipped my mind." He smiles. "The easy courses always do, I'm afraid."

And he doesn't say a word to her for the rest of the meal.

* * *

She ignores him during their next class. He ignores her in turn, but she can feel his amusement from across the room.

The class after that, he's waiting for her in the hallway. She walks past without making eye contact.

The class after that, her pencils start disappearing again.

The class after that, she gets a text message from another blocked number in the middle of an essay. _Sulking is unattractive._ She turns off her phone, apologizes to the professor for the interruption, and continues.

The class after that she finds out she got a passing grade on the essay — but only just. Which is weird, considering she had been _sure_ she…

She reads over the paper. It looks like her handwriting, but those aren't her answers. This is not the essay she turned in.

This is _not_ her essay.

That… he…

Okay, fine. If he wants to play, Jane is game.

So when she finds him waiting for her like he has been, smug confidence from head to toe and without even the slightest _hint_ of guilt, Jane does what she's been dreaming of from the moment they met.

She punches him in the jaw.

His hand goes to his face, his eyes widen, and he rubs at the sore spot for a moment — but then, because he's _Loki_, he starts to laugh. "I missed you too," he says.

"I hate you. I _hate_ you. Do you have any idea how much I hate you? You're the most awful person in the world. I wish I'd never met you." Jane's voice climbing and she can't seem to stop it. "I wish I'd flunked out. I wish I'd slept with the professor. I wish I'd never come to London. I _hate_ you!"

They're gaining an audience.

Loki doesn't stop smiling, but his expression turns cold in a way she's not seen. "Let's not be melodramatic," he purrs, tone as low as hers is shrill. "If you had never come here, you'd have never given Thor a concussion. What a true tragedy that would have been."

"Fuck you."

"You should be thanking me. What would my brother have said if he knew you and I have spent every other night together for the last two months?"

"That is _not_ how it was!"

"Perhaps not, but do you think Thor will agree? I'm willing to test the theory if you are. Go on. Call him."

Jane had always thought 'exploded with rage' was a stupid cliché. Now… now there's a part of her brain calmly working the equations on how many kilojoules of fury must be required for spontaneous human combustion. "You set me up," she hisses. "That's why you offered to tutor me. You knew I was dating Thor, and you wanted to screw with him for some reason. It was another one of your stupid little pranks."

"Well, yes."

"_Why?_"

"Why not?" Loki tilts his head to the side, observing her like she's a piece of art, and not a very interesting one at that. "I've shown you my tricks — well, a _few_ of them. Did you believe yourself exempt?"

She did.

"I hate you," she whispers.

"And thus the status quo remains unchanged. Magpie, ten o'clock?" She gapes at him incredulously, and he makes an impatient sort of noise. "Come now, you don't _really_ want to earn your passing grades via oral sex, do you?"

"What difference does it make, if you just swap out my essays?"

"Oh, that? Easily undone. If you wish it, that is." He leans forward, forward and down, as he's never done before, close enough for her to see how his cheek is going to bruise, and whispers in her ear: "Do you want to know what your score would have been if I hadn't altered it? You ought not be skipping study sessions."

_Yes, you're trapped, I'll do as I please, and I dare you to stop me_.

"You are scum," Jane tells him.

"Ten o'clock. Don't be late. And be sure to bring a _large_ quantity of pencils."


	4. Chapter 4

It's when they're waiting in line to buy movie tickets a few days later that Jane subtly brings the subject around to Loki.

At least, she _means_ to subtly bring the subject around. Being as social delicacy has never been one of Jane's skills, what she _actually_ does is say: "What's the deal with your brother?"

"Ah." Thor glances down at her. "That. That's… complicated. Why? Has he been bothering you in your class?"

Only every single moment. "No. There's just obviously a story there, is all. If I'm going to get to know your family, it's kind of helpful to have some data available."

"Always data with you," he teases, expression fond. But his affectionate look fades when they take another step in the line, and he says: "There was some… unpleasantness awhile back. Father officially presented me to the board of directors as his heir, and Loki— he disagreed."

"He wants the businesses?"

"Well, he certainly doesn't want _me_ to have them. And he may not have been wrong. I was… less suited at the time than I am now. Either way, he was envious."

"Oh." Loki being dramatic. Big shock. "No offense, but unless he was cut off from everything—"

"He wasn't."

"—then I don't see why there's still _unpleasantness_. I mean, if I had a family, I wouldn't throw them away over money." She should call Erik. He'll be wondering how the semester is going.

A few more steps up in line. "It, ah, got a bit worse. Shortly afterward he began investigating ways to contest my inheritance, and in the process, he discovered he was adopted."

Oh. "He didn't know?"

"Neither of us did. Anyway, words were — were _exchanged_. And more than words, on a few occasions." Thor clears his throat. "Then he moved out of our parents' house, and he's not spoken to Father or I more than a half dozen times since. Mother receives calls once in awhile, but not often. You've likely seen him more in the past month than I have in the past year."

Jane's not entirely convinced that Loki vanishing from one's life is such a bad thing — it'd be a blessing, in her case — but the pain in Thor's voice causes an answering twinge in her chest. "That's tough. I'm sorry."

"Thank you. It was good that he came the other day. We were close at one time, so it's difficult to give up hope that my brother might still be in there somewhere."

Maybe.

Or maybe he's still right there on the surface, and Thor never knew him at all.

Jane knows which hypothesis she'd test.

His credit card is declined at the counter. So is his second, and his third. She ends up buying the tickets.

* * *

The next morning reveals Thor's personal accounts have all been drained.

* * *

"That was low, even for you," Jane tells Loki at their next study session.

"I've no idea what you're talking about."

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about. Give Thor his money back, or I promise I'll rat you out."

"To what end? Does my brother suspect me of some sort of wrong-doing?"

"No, but only because he _trusts_ you. I don't."

"Yet more evidence you're ill-suited." Loki checks over her work, adding another pencil to his pint glass. She has no idea which one. She didn't even see him move. "Only a fool would trust me. Thor has always fit that description; _you_, however, do not. Though your essay here would suggest otherwise — are you _determined_ to misunderstand Heisenberg?"

"I don't misunderstand Heisenberg. Heisenberg is _wrong_. These people _invented_ indeterminism because they couldn't deal with the fact that their observations were incomplete. Just because we don't have the means to collect all variables to an equation doesn't mean it _can't_ be done. The answers _exist_. We just have to get at them."

"Your quixotic quest to eradicate all uncertainty in the known _and_ unknown universe is remarkable, but refusing to admit the possibility of free will will not earn passing marks."

"I'm not going to lie."

"Then you're going to fail."

"Give Thor his money back."

"I don't have it."

"Do I sound like I'm kidding?"

"I _don't have it_ — and even if I did, a few object lessons in loss will hardly do my brother any long-term damage." He taps the side of his pint glass. It's stuffed full of pencils. "I believe our game is over."

Jane pats her hair, pats her side, pats her coat pockets, checks her purse. Nothing. "No. No way. There is _no way_ I got that many questions wrong."

"Are you saying I'm dishonest?"

"I'm saying you're so full of shit your eyes should be brown."

"An elegant turn of phrase. Has Thor asked you to stay in London yet?"

She chokes on a mouthful of beer. Loki snickers. When she can speak again, she demands: "What makes you think he's going to ask me that?"

"Magic."

"Loki, I swear to God—"

He raises his thin hands in a completely fake conciliatory gesture. "No tricks have been employed," he says. "I just know my brother. He's not what one would refer to as a _complex_ man. He'll ask, and soon."

"Well… well, whatever he's going to do, I'm not going to talk about it with _you_."

"You should say yes."

Jane blinks as Loki takes an idle sip of his drink. He's having more than usual. She'd have pegged him for scotch, or pino noir, or something else equally pretentious, but he prefers meads and ciders. "I thought you said Thor and I were ill-suited," she says finally.

"You are." The words are blunt as falling boulders. "So I hope you decide to stay, because I can imagine no greater pleasure than watching your relationship slowly disintegrate into mutual dissatisfaction and contempt. My family provides so little entertainment these days, you see."

This son of a bitch.

"Okay, look. I heard the big sob story, all right?" She points at his chest. "You were adopted, like millions of other people. Your brother gets stuff you don't, like millions other people. You think you've been screwed, _like millions of other people_. You know what? _I don't care._ Work through your persecution complex on your own time, and leave me the hell out of it."

His expression, and the brief silence that follows, almost, almost make Jane wonder if she shouldn't have so carelessly pressed those particular buttons.

Especially when something truly dangerous gleams in Loki's eye. "How very impressive," he drawls. His smile is sharp as a knife. "Who knew a month of getting fucked by my brother would make Jane Foster _such_ the expert on Odinson dynamics."

Jane never finds out what would have been said next, because she stands up at that exact moment, prepared to storm out—

—and bumps into a beefy guy carrying a glass in each hand. The drinks knock loose, dump over both their shirts, and fall to shatter on the floor in a crash.

Jane gasps as icy liquid soaks through her bra.

The guy looks right at her and slurs: "Oi, watch where you're going, bitch."

Great. Typical.

This really rounds out her evening.

Loki begins to chuckle. "Oh, _thank_ you," he says to the drunk, pushing his chair back. "You've _no_ idea how much I needed this. Jane, are you wearing impractical shoes tonight?"

Jane frowns. "What? No." She'd given them up after the blisters.

"Good. Because we may have to run in the next few minutes."

"Huh?"

The beefy guy looks back and forth between them both. "The fuck is wrong with both of—"

Loki slams his pint glass right into the guy's face, the full force of his arm behind the swing.

Pencils and teeth go flying.

Oh, _shit_.

* * *

Fifteen minutes and what has to constitute multiple counts of assault later, Jane and Loki finally duck into an alley. "What," she pants, "the hell… were you thinking?"

For having just left several people unconscious and sprinting half a mile, Loki's looking annoyingly chipper. Even with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles everything about him flashes brighter. "It seemed the thing," he says.

"You can't start a bar fight just because you _feel like it!_"

"Why not?"

"Because… you just_ can't!_"

"Ah. Your well-reasoned argument has persuaded me to the error of my ways."

"And where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Where do I learn to do anything?"

If Jane could stand up straight she'd take her own shot at him. "We're going to get arrested," she moans.

"No, we won't." His grin widens to something truly manic. "None of those gentleman are known for tipping particularly well, whilst you and I are _sterling_ customers. So somehow I suspect the staff won't be able to recall just who threw the first punch."

Then, out of nowhere, he produces a wallet. From it he plucks what looks to be forty or fifty pounds, then tosses the cards into a nearby dumpster.

Jane mouths wordlessly for a moment before she manages to say: "Did you seriously pick that guy's pocket _while you were beating him up?_"

"I can't imagine what you mean," says Loki. "Do you want this?"

"No!"

"Are you certain? It'll be dropped in the gutter otherwise. _I've_ no need. Seems I've come into quite an astonishingly large amount of money recently."

_Yes, I'm serious, I'll just throw it all away, and I dare you to stop me._

Well…

…the guy _did_ call her a bitch.

"I hate you," she says, taking the bills and tucking them into her pocket.

"So you do." Loki wipes his nose, leaving a streak of blood across the back of his hand. "I think we'll not be able to return to that pub in the future. A shame; they had the best chips."

Jane's heart is still going a million miles an hour, she's full of alcohol and adrenaline, she's been party to a series of misdemeanors if not actual felonies, she's just accepted all the cash from a stolen wallet, and the worst person in the world is standing in front of her beaming with deranged joy as though this is all part of a normal Tuesday night.

So she can't help it; she starts to laugh. Helplessly. Uncontrollably. Endlessly.

And, for what she's pretty sure is the first time, Loki laughs _with_ her, not _at_ her.

She uses part of the money for cab fare home. And doesn't share. After all, Loki didn't wind up with her pencils, now did he?


	5. Chapter 5

It doesn't take Jane long to realize her philosophy notes got left at the bar she can never go back to.

Well, in _theory_ they got left. A theory Jane doesn't subscribe to. She's willing to bet every cent in her paltry bank account that her unhinged kleptomaniac of a tutor grabbed them before they ran out and has them stashed somewhere. Because that's something he'd do.

The midterm is tomorrow. She's not due to see him beforehand.

She _needs_ her notes. 

* * *

She calls Thor, because Loki's never given her any contact information. She doesn't have a number or an email; she doesn't know what his other classes are. He just pops up when he wants to and disappears again when he feels like it. Until the day of the family dinner she didn't even know his last name.

_Thor's_ number, on the other hand, she's had since their first date. _He_ communicates like an actual normal human being.

Unfortunately, he's a dead end. "The mobile I have for Loki was cancelled ages ago." There's some sort of interference in the background; he's probably at a game or something, which he can afford again since his _banking error_ got sorted out. And he stopped what he was doing to take her call. That's how nice guys are, dammit. "And I've no idea where he keeps his flat."

"He doesn't live on the street or anything, right?"

"No. If he tried, Mother would have put a stop to it."

"And she would know?"

"She would know."

That's something, at least. Jane's seconds away from asking Thor to please, please, _please_ call him mom to intercede, because she _needs_ those notes and apparently there's no one else in the world who'll be able to find Loki to get them—

—but Thor has a better idea.

He gives her his mom's number.

"Thor, I don't know. This is going to be _really_ awkward."

"She's fond of you, Jane. And as she's refused to pass messages between Loki and I—" the dull hurt in his voice is obvious, and Jane aches for him "—you're more likely to receive her help if you ask directly."

What else can she say to that?

She _needs_ those notes.

So she takes the number. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon," she says, trying to pretend like calling her boyfriend's mom to get help with her boyfriend's brother who she hates isn't taking six steps forward into a very scary quagmire she's not sure she'll be able to squelch her way out of afterward. She's as bad with people as she's good with numbers, but even _she_ sees that.

"Yes. Tomorrow." A pause. "Jane?"

"Yeah?"

Another pause — then a faint, self-deprecating laugh. "It's nothing. I'll tell you later. Good luck." And he hangs up.

Jane waits until she hears the dial tone before she clicks _End_.

***

* * *

Mrs. Odinson is terrifyingly nice on the phone as Jane explains the situation — leaving out the part about the bloody nose and stolen wallet, of course.

"I understand your dilemma, Miss Foster, but if Loki has a consistent mobile number he has never shared it with me."

"Then how to do you get in touch with him?"

"Oh, the same way I get in touch with Thor. I've long since found that if I have something to say to my sons, it's best to visit them in person. It is very difficult to avoid your mother when she stands on your threshold."

She's going to flunk this midterm. After all this, after all she's put up with, she's going to fail. _Damn_ Loki and his bruised knuckles. "Please, Mrs. Odinson," is all Jane can think of to say.

A long pause — a very Thor kind of pause — followed by a sigh. "Is my son at fault?"

Jane doesn't answer. She's not a teenager anymore, but still… you don't tattle on someone to their mom. Even someone you hate. Even someone who absolutely definitely has it coming.

But she doesn't have to say anything at all, apparently, because Mrs. Odinson gives Jane the address of an apartment building in Islington. "You must give me your word you will _not_ share this with Thor," the older woman admonishes, in a very _I have five hundred years of English nobility in my veins and I can have you beheaded with a flick of my wrist_ tone.

"I won't. I promise. Thank you _so_ much."

"And Miss Foster?"

"Yes?"

"Be gentle with my children."

***

* * *

"Do you think he sleeps in a coffin?"

"He's not a _vampire_, Darcy."

"Yeah, but he still seems like the kind of guy who would do something like that just for kicks. You know, add to the whole creepy mystique thing."

"He's not creepy, and he's not a vampire. He's just an asshole."

"A _wanker_, you mean." Darcy stands on her tiptoes in a garden full of mint, trying to peer through the window of the first floor apartment. "Come on, Jane, we've been in England for ages now. Get with the program."

"I knew I should have come alone."

"Yeah, right. You didn't want to come alone because you're _scared_. Because he's creepy. And possibly a vampire."

"He's _not_— forget it. Do you see anything?"

"Nope. Just a whole lot of dark. I hate to say this, but I think you're screwed."

Jane crosses her arms and leans against the front door of the building. Buzzer-entry only, and all the other apartments are either empty or really, really mistrustful. "He has to come home _sometime_."

"I'm not waiting out here all night, Jane. I've got classes too, you know, and exams_ I_ don't want to fail. Just in case you've forgotten."

Oops. "I know," Jane says sheepishly. "Uh… sorry."

"S'okay." That's the thing about Darcy — she never holds a grudge. It's both mystifying and extremely convenient. "Come on, if we go now there'll still be time for _EastEnders_."

Jane straightens up, chews on her lip… and takes another look at the window.

It's pretty low, all things considered.

She _has to pass this midterm._

So she steps onto the mint. "Give me a boost," she tells Darcy.

"Wait, what?"

"Give me a boost. That lock doesn't look so tough." She ignores Darcy's boggled expression, because if she thinks about this too hard she's going to question her own sanity. "Quick, do it."

Darcy shakes her head. "I can't believe how many laws you're willing to break just for six credits." But she kneels so Jane can step onto her thigh and hoist herself up. "Watch out for booby traps. He's probably got tripwires and crossbows and shit."

That's almost _too_ easy to picture. "Just keep lookout, okay?"

"Fine, fine."

Jane's never committed burglary before — except it's not really burglary if she's getting her own stuff back, right? — but she's always had a knack for the logistics of nuts and bolts. There's a storage locker back at Stanford full of observational equipment she built for herself after getting sick of the physics department's draconian lab access rules.

The latch gives in less than a minute.

Jane slithers through the open window.

Okay, this is probably wrong. A little.

But he's a _jerk._ And they're _her_ notes.

She feels around for a light switch, and comes across a lamp a few feet in front of her. When she flicks it on the room floods with light.

"What's it like in there?" Darcy calls. "Is there a coffin?"

"No." Jane looks around, stunned. "There's… nothing, really."

"Nothing? Seriously? What a gyp."

Jane tiptoes across the floor, strangely entranced. Thor's place is comfortable, relaxed, and suits him to a T. Why should his brother's home be any different? There should be papers and bottles and lockpicking equipment. Boxes full of odds and ends. Piles of whatever shiny happened to catch his attention on a particular day. At least six computers. It's _Loki_. He should live like a magpie.

But there's nothing in the little studio flat. An expensive-looking chair, a coffee table. A bed in the corner. A sink and a hot plate that look like they've never been used. A desk with some books.

And that's it.

What does he do with everything he steals?

"Jane, hurry it up!"

Right. She scurries to the desk, which is the only place in the room where anything is out of sight, and starts pulling open drawers.

The top drawer holds notebooks scribbled cover to cover with spiderweb handwriting. Stuff for other classes.

The second drawer is bolted.

The third drawer is full of pencils.

"They're not here," Jane calls, heart sinking. Maybe he's got them in his pocket right now. Maybe he threw them away just to be mean.

Maybe he left them in the bar after all.

Maybe she doesn't know him as well as she thought she did.

"Great. Wonderful. Can we go home now?"

_Damn it._

***

* * *

The next morning, as the exam begins, Jane is fighting back both yawns and tears. The yawns because she stayed up all night trying and failing to absorb information from a textbook that only ever makes sense when translated by psychopaths with no belongings who won't go away when you don't want them and then when you need them leave you in the lurch. The tears…

…the tears are because right now everything in the world, everything in the _entire world_, feels unfair.

He's in the back of the class as usual. She's avoided looking at him because he shouldn't have gotten into that fight in the first place and she shouldn't have broken into his home.

After an hour he stands up, walks to the front of the room, and hands in his test. On the way back he brushes past her and she feels a piece of paper pressed into her palm.

She looks down.

It's her notes.

And along the top, in spiderweb handwriting, are the words _I owe you a visit._

Jane closes her eyes, takes three deep breaths, and begins to copy the answers onto her midterm.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N**: Let me be extremely clear: all the Norwegian in this post comes from online translators, which means they are no doubt profoundly literal and anyone who actually speaks the language will be writhing on the floor in horror. Remember when I said the research for this would be minimal? Yup. Ikke beklagar._

* * *

Thor gets his dad to agree to meet her.

Jane intends to say _This is a terrible idea._

What she _actually_ says is _S__ure, seven o'clock sounds great_.

That seems to be happening a lot lately.

* * *

"This is a palace."

"Oh, no," says Thor, handsome face a bland mask. "Kensington is a palace. And a very dull one, at that, filled with very dull people, no matter what the Daily Express says. You'll have a much better time here."

Jane looks up at him incredulously — only to find his lips twitching with a suppressed smirk. "It's not nice to tease me when I'm having a nervous breakdown," she says, smacking his arm.

"There's no need for a breakdown. I cleared the house for serf traps before you arrived. There were more than you would imagine, actually."

Given that Loki grew up here, Jane can imagine quite a lot.

Thor grew up here, too. People still _live_ in places like this. From the moment Jane stepped into the townhouse — the inside of which is decorated like some period movie, all marble and paintings and an actual honest-to-God butler — it's been so patently obvious she doesn't belong that she's tempted to find a back entrance to slink out of.

She's wearing Darcy's dress again, but Thor's in jeans. He's behaving exactly as he would in his apartment, or hers for that matter. Because it's not even worth remarking on that there's a portrait of his great-great-grand-whatever hanging in the hall that was done by the same guy who painted Henry VIII.

They really _do_ come from two separate worlds.

He's showing her the library — _there's a library_ — when he finally picks up on the fact that she's not joking about being uncomfortable. "Everything will be all right, Jane," he tells her soothingly. "There will only be five or six forks to choose from, you have my word."

"You're not funny."

"I suppose not. May I apologize, my lady?"

_My lady._

Okay, so she gets tingly when he talks like that. Sue her.

And, of course, because _of course_, his brother walks in just as Thor's beginning a very thorough exploratory mission of Jane's tonsils. "We've eight bedrooms in this mausoleum," says Loki. He leans against the wall and gives them a deeply sarcastic look of disapproval. "Can you not choose one of them for your trysts? You'll frighten the first editions."

Typical. Like she needs this right now.

Jane glares daggers, but Thor just laughs, and it makes Jane more than a little sick to see how genuinely happy he looks to see his brother. "You've answered another of Mother's invitations, Loki? It's so long since you've been here, I am amazed you didn't lose your way."

"Oh, I _did_ make two or three wrong turns; thank goodness a tourist was gracious enough to let me borrow his map. After all, how could I miss such an important event?" Loki flashes a quick, utterly insincere smile at Jane. "I can't recall the last time you brought a girl home to Odin."

"Father," Thor corrects.

Loki's smile turns brittle. "_Your_ father."

Thor just sighs.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

* * *

In preparation for meeting Thor's father, every possible permutation of fiasco had gone through Jane's mind, from things as simple as spilling soup on the table cloth to discovering Odin really _did_ believe in Yggdrasil and having no choice but to explain to him the Big Bang theory in all its glorious detail. Once it occurred to her that Loki would also be invited and might show up just to make trouble, the disaster scenarios had turned to actual nightmares. They usually featured Loki's evil smirk and wicked tongue and really, really uncomfortable silences.

None of those things happen, and it's still worse than Jane ever pictured.

Because from the moment she introduces herself — in English, which Thor promised her his dad understood perfectly well and simply chose not to use — Odin Odinson, gray and grizzled and missing an eye from what Thor referred to as his 'younger days', seems determined to loathe her. He meets her fumbled greeting with a grunt, says something in Norwegian, and sits down at the head of the table, speaking to no one.

Mrs. Odinson is as gracious as always. The food is good and much less fancy that Jane had feared. Thor puts in what's obviously a lot of effort to making her feel less unwanted, but Jane still wants to crawl under the table and die.

And Loki, being Loki, just sits back and smirks.

But still, it all kind of seems to be going better — or at least less awful — until, in the middle of Thor telling a story about Jane's first soccer match and how she accidentally wound up cheering for the wrong team, Odin slams his hand down on the table hard enough to make the plates jump.

_"Hvor lenge må jeg tåle dette, Thor?"_ He gestures at Jane. _"Denne kvinnen hører ikke her noe mer enn en geit på en bankett-tabell."_

Jane doesn't have the slightest idea what that means, but it can't be good. Not if the expression on Thor's face is anything to go by. Or Mrs. Odinson's.

Even Loki's eyes flash, though his smile actually widens slightly. _"Ditt valg av ord er alltid så poetisk, far,"_ he murmurs, taking a sip of water.

"Stay out of this, brother."

"Why? _Dette er svært underholdende_."

"I will not warn you again." Thor looks right at his father and growls: _"Du er en gammel mann og en tosk."_

The room goes deathly quiet.

There's got to be an escape hatch here somewhere.

Thankfully, Mrs. Odinson provides one. "Loki," she says, voice both courteous and armored in iron, "if you would be so kind as to escort Jane to the parlor and excuse the three of us for a few moments?"

Even Loki doesn't hesitate to obey _that_ tone.

He guides her to what he refers to as the _third parlor_, because apparently there are _three_. As soon as the door closes she says: "I suppose that was fun for you."

_"Det hadde sin øyeblikk."_

"Really? You're going to keep doing this?"

_"Jeg er veldig fristet. Du er vakker når du er frustrert, visste du at?"_

"I hate you."

"No, no." Loki clicks his tongue. "_Jeg hater deg._"

"What?"

"I hate you. _Jeg. Hater. Deg._"

Jane scowls at him, but still, it doesn't hurt to know how to loathe him in multiple languages. _"Jeg hater deg."_

He smiles. "Your accent is atrocious, but I suppose it will do. For now."

"Great. So what did your father say about me?"

"He's not my father. And nothing particularly interesting, surprising, or worth repeating."

"Which means?"

"You're not Sif."

"Who the hell is Sif?"

"My brother's ex-girlfriend." Jane blinks, and Loki elaborates: "Odin has been shipping Thor to Oslo every summer since he was sixteen, in the hopes his heir will meet some lovely Norwegian to make lovely Norwegian babies with when the time comes. He approved of Sif, whom Thor fancied for a year or so before breaking it off. No one else is likely to measure up in his eyes — certainly not an American." Loki snorts. "And I used to question why he never sent _me_. Rather obvious, in retrospect…"

"Excuse me, but I'm not here to make babies with _anyone_, Norwegian or otherwise."

"Are you not?"

"No!"

"Does Thor know that?"

"Yes!" Right?

He just hums, and begins to circle the room idly. Jane wonders what's vanishing as he makes his circuit. Probably something really valuable. "What _have_ you done to him?"

"Huh?"

"There was a time my brother would have upended that table in rage after what Odin said about you. Instead he uses words — harsh ones, certainly, but still words. Was it the blow to the head? Or something else?"

Loki says all this like it doesn't matter to him one way or another, but his gaze is hard as he watches her. That's meaningless. He can look interested when he's bored and bored when he's interested.

Either way, she's not going to talk about it with him. "Why do you care?"

"Why not?" She rolls her eyes, and he laughs at her. _At_ her. "Oh, I do hope you decide to stay in London. A few more dinners like this and _I_ may be the worthy son."

The hell with all of this. "I'm going home," Jane informs Loki. "If I ask you to ask Thor to call me, what are the chances you'll actually do it?"

"What do you think they are?"

Statistically insignificant.

* * *

A few hours later _she_ calls him, and apologizes — kind of — for leaving like that. He apologizes in turn for, well, pretty much everything.

"At least _some_ good came of it," he says. "That's twice we've seen Loki in a month; maybe he's decided to come out of exile."

"You'd want that?"

"Of course." Thor sounds puzzled that she would think otherwise. Then he has to hang up, because the mechanic has arrived. For some reason his car won't start.

Jane screams into a pillow.

And soon she realizes someone_ — __who could it be_, hmm — has locked every one of her ringtones to Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song", which goes off once an hour, on the hour, day and night, for the next three days.

* * *

_**A/N**: Relevant phrases, as according to questionably accurate online translators:_

_Hvor lenge må jeg tåle dette, Thor? Denne kvinnen hører ikke her noe mer enn en geit på en bankett-tabell._ —How long do I have to endure this, Thor? This woman does not belong here any more than a goat at a banquet table.

_Ditt valg av ord er alltid så poetisk, far._ —Your choice of words is always so poetic, father.

_Dette er svært underholdende._ —This is very entertaining.

_Du er en gammel mann og en tosk._ —You are an old man and a fool.

_Det hadde sin øyeblikk._ —It had its moments.

_Jeg er veldig fristet. Du er vakker når du er frustrert, visste du at?_ —I am very tempted. You're beautiful when you're frustrated, did you know that?

_Jeg hater deg._ —I hate you.


	7. Chapter 7

After, the only real surprise is that it took as long to happen as it did.

* * *

Thor's distant the next time she comes over. A few months ago this wouldn't have bothered Jane, but now she's so used to having undivided attention in bed that his distraction feels weird and makes her worry.

Not that the sex is any less phenomenal than usual, mind. So phenomenal that it's worth giving up an evening of work on term papers.

Still, good girlfriend protocol means she should offer support. She knows; she looked it up. "What's wrong?" she asks, poking him in the chest.

Please let it not be family drama. Please let it not be family drama. _Please_ let it not be family drama—

"My father is angry with me."

Damn. "Listen, no offense, but it sounds like he's angry with most people most of the time. I wouldn't lose any sleep over it."

"He is a good man," Thor insists. "He's simply— he has been different, since Loki."

"Uh-huh." Again, Jane wonders if maybe Odin was always like this, and Thor just didn't realize it. He seems a little… blind, when it comes to his family.

Not in a bad way, of course. Seeing your loved ones through rose-colored glasses is hardly some huge character flaw.

In theory, at least. Jane's never viewed anything through rose-colored glasses in her life. Sentiment isn't really her thing. Facts are.

So, get the facts. "Is there something specific he's upset about now? Or is it just me again?"

Thor smiles, rolling over to twist a lock of Jane's hair around his finger. "He _is_ upset about you, but only tangentially. He thinks the American at fault for distracting me from my duties and leading me astray." At her raised eyebrow, he elaborates: "My marks are poor at the moment. So there have been a great number of lectures about responsibility, readiness, behaving as a man instead of a selfish boy, so forth and so on."

Her inclination to just say his dad's a jerk and to ignore him is stopped by Jane's sudden confusion. "What do you mean, 'poor marks'? You didn't say anything about having trouble in class."

"I wasn't aware I was. But scores do not lie."

Oh.

Oh, absolutely _not_.

Jane sits up in bed, pulling the sheet with her to cover her chest. "Thor? Did you actually check your tests and your papers? I mean, did you look at your answers when you got them back?"

"I glanced over them."

"And it's what you turned in? You're _positive?_"

"Jane, what is this about?"

She heaves a sigh of frustration at the look of bewilderment on his handsome face. "Thor, can't you think of _anyone_ who would want to sabotage your relationship with your dad? Or just sabotage you in general? Anyone who's good at playing really nasty tricks and never getting caught?"

"I don't understand."

And Jane, after taking a very deep breath, tells him everything.

* * *

She doesn't hear from anyone for two days after that. One brother doesn't call. The other doesn't show up to class.

"How is this a problem?" Darcy asks as they share popcorn and watch _Doctor Who_, which Darcy loves and Jane can barely tolerate. "You know muscle man will turn up eventually, and the vampire's been nothing but a pain in the ass from day one."

"Yeah, but maybe Thor really _is_ angry that Loki and I spent so much time together."

"Bullshit. You've got him wrapped around your finger. How did you do that, by the way? I want your secret."

"Why does everyone keep asking that? There's no secret."

"Maybe it was when you ran him over and smashed his head."

"I did not run him over _or_ smash his head! It was a graze and a teensy little concussion! And I resent the implication that a man would only be interested in me because of brain-damage!"

"You said it, not me. I am _so_ downloading this episode. These angels are awesome."

"They're not awesome, they're ridiculous. That is _not_ how a quantum lock would work."

"Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey."

"Oh my God, could you _please_ stop with the timey-wimey. There is _no such thing_. Even the most outlandish fourth-dimensional hypotheses wouldn't allow for—"

Darcy just shakes her head. "You," she says, "are a _terrible_ fangirl."

* * *

Darcy's out for the night — _on the pull_, she says it's called — which means that he's probably been spying on them to turn up when he does. This is both disturbing and not in the least bit surprising. For all Jane knows he's planted a bug in her purse or is tracking the GPS on her phone.

Or he's magic.

Either way, when Jane returns from the library to a darkened flat, she finds Loki lying on her couch, feet dangling over the armrest, like he has every right to be there. Same as always. "Do you know what my brother said to me?"

Jane almost jumps out of her skin. "Oh, my God, Loki! How did you get in here?"

"Your front lock is hardly designed to protect the crown jewels."

"So you just broke in?"

"This indignation would be far more justified if you hadn't done the same to me. I _do_ owe you a visit, after all."

Okay, fair point. Jane's still not comfortable with the twist of guilt she feels over that one. "Fine. Here you are. We're even. Now go away."

"No."

He's between her and the lamp, and there's a deep-down evolutionary intuition telling her not to come closer. At least there's enough moonlight coming through the windows to make out shapes.

"Darcy thinks you're a vampire," Jane says, apropos nothing.

Loki chuckles. He's staring up at the ceiling, hands behind his head, comfortable as anything. "Wouldn't _that_ be an interesting twist in this little drama."

"I don't want to be part of a drama. I don't want to be part of this big… _thing_ that you and Thor and your family have going on." Jane's angry to hear her voice shaking. It's just so _frustrating_. She never asked for this. "I just want to pass this stupid class."

"It's too late now, Jane Foster."

Apparently so. "It's your fault." Jane comes to stand at the end of the sofa, next to Loki's dangling feet, which she considers hitting. "You're the one who dragged me into it."

"You started seeing my brother all on your own."

"Yeah, but _you_ decided to 'tutor' me so you could screw with him. What did you say? Why hasn't he called me?"

"Oh, I imagine he's just thinking. My brother is not the quickest man alive. Coming to a decision can take him awhile."

"What decision?"

Loki's smile gleams in the darkness. "Why, who matters more to him, of course: me, or you."

Biology isn't Jane's science, but she recognizes it _as_ a science. And she recognizes, when Loki sits up on the couch, his legs still dangling over the armrest, and looks her in the eye, that it's the survival instinct of all the generations of creatures that lived long enough to bring her into existence that tells her _Predator. Predator. Danger. Predator._

She holds very still.

"Do you know, he came to me — hunted me down after so long of granting me distance, at that — and do you know what he said, Jane?" His lip curls. "He _apologized_ for whatever I felt he had done to wrong me. As though it's some enormous mystery. As though he's never noticed how our father favored him. As though he hasn't sought it and benefited from it and held it over my head since we were children."

"He's not like that."

"_Now_ he isn't. I told him to fight me and he _refused_. I said some truly spectacular things, if I do say so myself, and he _took_ it." Loki starts to laugh. "What did you do to make him so soft, Jane? You _have_ to tell me. I really don't think I'll be able to sleep until I know."

"I didn't do anything," she insists. "Whatever this is with the two of you, it's not me, okay? It's got nothing to do with me."

"It does, actually. I'm in love with you."

Jane blinks.

Loki's grin widens.

She recognizes that look. "You're lying," she says. "You are _absolutely_ lying."

"What makes you say so? I met you first, after all. I spent as much time with you as Thor did. He simply took the direct approach, while I intended to be more circumspect."

"You started spending time with me _because you knew I was dating Thor_."

"Oh, yes. I explained to him how that was simply a clever lie to save my pride once I realized you and he were together. But though I've kept a calm outward demeanor, I've been unable to control my jealousy, which I'm afraid has manifested in a series of rather childish pranks." Loki says this all so sadly, his voice positively dripping with sincerity. "But it's really become much too difficult for me, you see. I _had _thought perhaps the time had come to make peace with my family, but now, seeing the two of you, well…

"But don't fret. I've no doubt he'll soon call and inform you in the most _eloquent_ language that you are entirely worth sacrificing any hope of reconciliation with his only brother."

That…

That…

"You're a monster," Jane whispers. "How can you be so cruel? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong with me. I was dealt a hand of lies at my birth; I can hardly be blamed for playing the cards."

"I'll tell Thor what's really going on. That you are a rotten, conniving, _evil_ little snake."

"Ooh. And how, exactly, will you manage that?" Loki's eyes burn up into hers. "There's nothing you can say that will contradict my tale. For all you know, Jane, I'm telling the truth."

"You've never told the truth about anything in your entire life."

"There must have been once or twice. I can't recall."

_"Why are you doing this?"_

"Why not?"

She hits him. She _has_ to.

Loki takes the slap without a flinch, then grabs her wrist to jerk her forward. She topples over the armrest and winds up sprawled across his lean body. He's feverishly warm for someone so cold-blooded.

"I hate you," she says.

"And you do it so beautifully." His hands skate down her sides, his touch oddly soft. "Why my brother wastes his time with your love, I'll never understand. _This_ is so much better."

She freezes as he takes hold of her hips, adjusting her just so. She can feel him hard against her inner thigh.

_Danger_. _Predator._

She vaguely remembers her physiology classes, and rising heart rates, and the fight-or-flight instinct, and how all those hormones are connected in a big loop. There's as many variables in the human body as there are in the stars, but they're more difficult to suss out due to inherent subjectivity. A microscope cannot examine itself.

So there's a scientific reason behind why her skin feels too tight, but she doesn't know what it is, and doesn't have the distance to examine it right now.

"I do adore how this has worked out." He adjusts her again, and again he's strangely gentle. "Either Thor decides to keep you and loses me and most likely Odin, or he chooses his family and gives up the only girl I believe he's ever truly loved. Either way, you continue to revile me. Where is my disadvantage?"

He's crying and doesn't seem to notice. But he can seem any way he wants.

Jane has never been more disturbed in her life. "You're sick, Loki," she says. "I mean it. You need help."

"Then help me." He presses his palm against her back, slowly but relentlessly, until her chest is flush against his. She feels his lips brush against her throat. "You helped my brother. Why should I be different?"

"Thor is kind."

"I can be kind."

"No, you can't."

He huffs a laugh, breath warm across her shoulder. She trembles and there's starting to be more than one reason for it. "I can be kind to _you_."

Jane pulls back enough to look him in the eye. "You have never," she says, "never, not _once_, been kind to me."

His fingers twine through her hair to cradle the back of her head. "You," he replies, "have never asked me to be."

He shifts beneath her, and it shouldn't feel as good as it does.

It's the adrenaline.

"Maybe I _did_ tell Thor the truth," he says. "Maybe I didn't know until the day I was invited to meet his new girlfriend just who that new girlfriend was. Maybe I thought I'd finally found something for myself only to discover in one humiliating moment that I'd never had it at all. Maybe I lied because I'd rather look a monster than a fool."

"Or maybe you're lying now."

His gaze is on her mouth. He's not smiling. "Does it really matter?"

It does.

It _should._

Jane has the sudden feeling that she's just lost a game she never knew she was playing.

When he pulls her lips down to his, she doesn't resist.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hey, where have you gone?_

_Nowhere. This situation is just more complicated than I realized. I will call you soon._

And that's all Jane hears from Thor for the next four days.

She doesn't spend them alone.

* * *

Thor always invited Jane to his flat, out of respect for Darcy. Loki, on the other hand, has no problem whatsoever with invading her space whenever he sees fit, and at the times her roommate _is_ there manages to come and go without her ever noticing. Jane's given up trying to figure out how.

Oh, and if she thought she detested that blocked number of his _before_, it's _nothing_ compared to now.

_On my way. Wake Up. Or don't._ blinks on her phone's display at three in the morning.

She can't send back a text saying _Don't you dare._

She can't send one back saying _The door's unlocked_ either.

Not that she'd say the latter, anyway. Because she has a strong suspicion that a bolted door wouldn't make a bit of difference to him one way or another. It's not a theory she wants to test.

She _ought_ to bolt it, though. Maybe she can't stop him from breaking in if he decides to, but she can force him to take that extra symbolic step, at least. Add in one more unknown quantity.

She lies in bed pondering the equation until he's there, kissing her out of her reverie. She never did throw the lock.

* * *

He doesn't invite her to _his_ place, even though it's nothing she hasn't seen before.

Not relevant. She wouldn't go if he did.

Probably.

Jane's not really sure what she would or wouldn't do anymore.

* * *

It would be a lot better — or at least a lot easier to handle — if they just had sex. _That_ would be… okay, it would still be bad, and humiliating, and probably one of the worst things she's ever done, but it'd be a lot easier to justify that as weird animal magnetism caused by biochemical reactions and more of the physiology stuff she's not as good at but clearly needs to brush up on. Also it would include the rotation of the moon and the fact that Neptune is in the house of Scorpio.

She doesn't believe in astrology, but _something_ has to explain this, so she's willing to maybe expand her mind a little.

Things don't happen in a vacuum. Nature is not a random place, whatever Eddington says. The Uncertainty Principle applies to _everything_, large and small, and somehow, from the moment of the Big Bang, all the tiny beyond-the-capacity-of-human-understanding-but-still-existent variables in the universe had been coming together to lead to her here, now, in bed with a guy she detests, panting for breath as he pulls off her nightshirt and begins to caress the lines of her ribs.

It's a very intimate action.

He likes intimacy.

She knows a Loki power play when she sees one.

* * *

This is why she prefers the stars, by the way.

Stars make sense.

People don't.

Stars are better.

* * *

She lets him take the lead each time, because too much active participation would indicate a level of approval she's not willing to give.

Not that she's _not_ consenting. It's just… consent with a nearly lethal dose of bitterness.

The problem — okay, one of many — is that Jane doesn't get how this happened, and without that critical data, doesn't know how to rectify it. If you're going to deflect a moving object, you must work out the physics to determine where said object will be traveling what exact time and with what power so that you can adequately prepare the appropriate counter.

Everything can be stopped. The Irresistible Force Paradox is just that: a paradox. But if you want to bring something that _seems_ unstoppable to a halt, you have to have all the variables first. Otherwise most, if not all, of the pieces involved wind up broken. Physics 101.

She considers this when he has her face down on the mattress — not a position she's ever much liked until now — and traces trails across her shoulder blades, which are not erogenous zones, there aren't enough nerve endings there to be erogenous zones, she _knows_ that, and still somehow manages to feel every bit as good as a mouth on her breast.

Obviously Jane's missing a variable. Or six.

* * *

It's multiple days of skipping their pub-study sessions, but classes still creep on, and exams really don't care about personal drama.

Studying still has to happen.

Even in a different context.

"Try again," Loki murmurs in her ear, slick fingers — her fault — working lightly but mercilessly. "The Copenhagen interpretation denies the possibility of an objective reality."

"Of course there's an objective reality. There _has_ to be. And I can't—" she gasps "—I can't believe you're doing this right now."

"Why not?" His thumb circles the exact right spot with delicate precision, and Jane whimpers. "Call it motivation."

But that's not how it works, because he takes pleasure the way he takes pencils. He doesn't use it to reward her for getting it right, but to emphasize how often she gets it wrong. Like he knows she wouldn't give him all these little noises if he didn't have something she needed.

Which she wouldn't.

She _wouldn't_.

He stifles her moan with a brush of his lips. "If you are _so_ concerned," he says, "your score can be whatever you wish. All you have to do is ask."

"I'm not going to cheat."

"Again."

"I _had to_ that time. You had my notes."

"Not the cheating I meant." His fingers dive deep, and she arches off the bed. "Not the _again_ I meant, either."

* * *

Frankly, if Jane had ever thought about it, which she hadn't, Loki is completely different in bed than she'd have ever imagined. She'd have assumed he would be a tease, someone who inflates his already massive ego by stringing her along until she begs, and then making her scream, just to prove he can.

She does scream once or twice. Or tries to. His hand always claps over her mouth.

What kind of guy actually wants a girl to be _quiet_?

This kind, apparently. He's both weirdly tender and absolutely intent, finding a spot at the base of her throat to worry and using steady shallow thrusts to hit all the right places. Maybe he just gets off on defying expectation. Jane's not sure. The more she sees, the _less_ sense he makes.

He ought to just fuck her into the mattress.

Also, she's not entirely sure he's sane.

* * *

"Don't you feel at least a _little_ bit guilty?" she demands of him, almost before they're actually done.

"Why should I?" he answers without hesitation. He's still inside her, moving slowly as they come down off the high. "_I'm_ not the one with a lover who thinks I hung the stars."

"I— I'm not—"

"Of course you are. Something of a whore, aren't you, Jane Foster?"

She'd hit him, even now, but so far he seems to view that as a reward instead of a punishment. "You're an asshole."

"There's no need to feel insulted. I like you this way."

"I hate you."

He buries his face in her neck, begins to move faster, and Jane realizes they're not riding out the aftershocks, they're about to go another round. "Oh, God, I know you do."

* * *

The next test is going to feature Compatibilism. On Jane's notes are the words of Arthur Schopenhauer, who said: _Man can do what he wills, but he cannot will what he wills._

That has _nothing_ to do with quantum mechanics, and no one is ever going to convince Jane otherwise.

* * *

It's just after seven on the fourth day when Thor finally calls. And it's Loki, of course, who picks up her cell from the night stand. "My brother," he informs her, like they're not both sweaty and naked and still trying to catch their breaths.

Jane's heart stops as she takes the phone and stares at the display.

"You'd best answer," Loki chides, rolling onto his side and propping his head on his hand. That fucking grin is back in place.

Oh, shit.

She clicks _Accept_. "Hi," she says weakly.

"Hi," says Thor. He sounds like hell. "I apologize for not calling."

"It's all right. I mean, you said things were complicated. As excuses go, it's not terrible."

"It was still—"

"No, really, it's fine. It's okay to want a break."

A break. A break is a good way to think of this. It was a break.

"I didn't intend it as a break."

Damn.

Loki laughs, but at least he does it silently. Her speaker is too loud for him to miss any part of the conversation.

"It is… as you said, everything is complicated." Thor sighs. "I owe you an explanation, but there are certain confidences I cannot break. If you understand."

Jane understands. Jane understands significantly better than he does. Loki has played him like a fiddle. "Of course."

"I did, however, want to ask you a question. I had meant to ask earlier, but— well. Would you be willing to stay in London after the semester ends? For the summer?"

Jane stares up at the ceiling. She can feel Loki's eyes on her. "I… I don't know," she finds herself whispering.

"I'm aware it's a big decision, and I haven't given you time to prepare for it. I wouldn't expect you to answer right now. It's simply that… there has been a great deal to think of for the last few days, and I realized I don't want to say goodbye to you before I know just what it is I would be saying goodbye _to_." There's a pause, and then a rueful laugh. "This is not me at my most eloquent."

"No, no. You're very…" He's _very_. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Thank you. May I see you tomorrow, Jane?"

They make plans for lunch.

After she hangs up Loki says: "It would seem my brother has made his choice." He's smiling, but something's off in his tone.

Jane rubs a hand across her eyes.

She only ever wanted to pass a stupid class.

"Okay," she says to Loki. "This is done. We're done."

A beat.

Then Loki starts to chuckle. "Oh, Jane." He takes her arm, nuzzles the crook of her elbow, presses a kiss to the blue line of her veins. "You go ahead and tell yourself that."


	9. Chapter 9

Jane's not had _loads_ of sexual experiences, but the combination of limited supervision and a spirit of scientific inquiry meant she's always been able to indulge her curiosity at will. And being too strange to seriously date — which she knows she is — as well as being completely unconcerned with romance until Thor's hand-kissing and other-language-whispering brought out blushes and stammers she didn't know she had, kept her free to do what she liked, with who she liked, when she liked.

So Thor wasn't the first. But he's the first man she's been with more than twice.

Loki is the second.

Jane thought they were different as night and day _before_.

She had no idea how right she was. 

* * *

Her relationship with Thor continues as though their break-that-wasn't-a-break never occurred.

Jane doesn't dare ask about what happened between him and Loki, because she already knows too much of the story and anything more will only make things worse. He doesn't volunteer either. Her please-don't-actually-answer inquiries are met with shakes of the head and promises that it's nothing, complicated but nothing, it will all be sorted out in time he's sure.

He definitely _doesn't_ tell her that if he can't think of another way out of the dilemma he's going to choose her over his brother.

Which is good, because she's already disturbed enough. She doesn't need to hear it said out loud.

Tonight he takes her to dinner; they go back to his place.

And, like it's been for the last week, his kisses have an edge of urgency they didn't before. 

* * *

When she gets home Loki is waiting in her bed.

She should be more surprised than she is. Really she should. As it stands, she's mostly just annoyed. "You could at least text first," she hisses, keeping her voice low because she doesn't know if Darcy's in or not.

"I did. Is your mobile off?"

Oh. Right. "It doesn't matter. You shouldn't just assume."

"Doing so hasn't exactly led me astray in the past, has it?"

"Fuck you."

"Well, yes."

As he sits up on the bed — _her_ bed — and puts his hands on her hips, pulling her close, Jane realizes Loki is going to get his way. Again. He always gets his way. He starts by assuming he's already won, and then it becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy.

Jane hates that. She hates more that she doesn't know what the effective counter is. Whenever she's busy trying to figure out how he keeps pulling this off, he uses the opportunity to steal another set of pencils. Metaphorically speaking.

He unbuttons her jeans, presses a soft kiss to her abdomen, then pauses. "You smell like sex," he comments.

"Of course I do. I just came from your brother's." She hopes it hurts.

But he just licks a line along the edge of her panties — and smiles. "How… surprisingly appealing." 

* * *

With Thor, the lights tend to stay on. The bedside one, at least. And the covers stay off. He's one of those people who seem to generate several thousand kilojoules of their own heat. Which isn't actually scientifically possible, of course, but… she really _does_ need to brush up on her biology.

While undressing she mumbles something vague about not looking her best at the moment, and reaches for the lamp.

Thor stops her. "You're beautiful," he says. "You're always beautiful. I would never not want to see you."

How does a girl say no to that?

That being said, it's not the seeing _her_ Jane's worried about, nearly so much as the shadow on her collarbone that hopefully doesn't look too much like a hickey anymore. God knows she iced it enough.

Well, if he notices later, maybe he'll think he's the one that left it.

Because that would make sense. 

* * *

They're already naked and frankly she's not sure how it happened. Loki's thieving fingers are too talented for anyone's good. Least of all Jane's. They're _so_ good, in fact, that it pretty much doesn't matter that he never goes down on her — even though she's more curious than she wants to admit about what that evil tongue of his could do in the right circumstances.

But, no, he's too busy being indirect. As always. Because he's got some sort of fetish for the least obvious places, and thanks to him she's starting to develop one too.

Also if he used his mouth he'd have to shut up.

"Pay attention, Jane," he says, like he doesn't know she can't _do_ that when he's scraping his thumbnail over the particular spot on her sternum that makes her squirm and lose her breath. "If indeterminism isn't—"

"Stop it." It's more of a squeak than a command, but it's something. "I don't want to study."

"Oh, now. Surely quantum physics isn't beyond your grasp, even at moments like this." His laugh reverberates through her body. "Or am I truly _that_ talented?"

"Yes. You are, all right? You are. Congratulations. Let's just get this over with."

Loki's eyes narrow. 

* * *

Thor's not indirect in the slightest. He undresses her, lays her back on the mattress, then goes straight down the line — mouth, throat, breasts, stomach, and…

…well. Jane has no idea who taught this man how to give head, but she needs to send the girl a fruit basket or something.

Come to think of it, she doesn't know anything about his history, really. She knows there was Sif the Norwegian Ex-Girlfriend, and obviously Thor has had plenty of practice with just about everything. But that's not the sort of stuff they talk about. Thor lives in the present, and occasionally the future. His brother is the one who dwells in the past.

Regardless, Thor's good. Really good. Really really _really_ good. And he's not even smug about it.

As his tongue moves soft and slow, then close and quick, she digs her fingers into his hair and thinks he's really too good for this world in general.

And _definitely_ too good for her. 

* * *

Loki slips an arm under her shoulders and rolls them over. "There," he says as she sprawls across his chest. He's hard and hot against her stomach. "_Get it over with_. Or get up and leave."

And he lets go of her entirely, putting his arms behind his head and fixing her with a challenging gaze.

There are not words for how much she _doesn't_ want to know about _his_ history.

"You're in _my_ bed," Jane snaps. "_I'm_ not going to be the one who leaves."

"What a convenient excuse."

"It's not an _excuse_, it's a _fact_."

"Tell _me_ to leave, then."

"I tell you to leave all the time."

"Tell me now." Her hair has fallen in her face. He pushes it out of the way, and keeps his hand on her cheek. "Go on."

Her palm itches to slap him. It must show in her expression, because the grin falls from Loki's face and is replaced by something else. "Do it," he murmurs. "You know you want to."

"No."

She sinks down onto him instead. 

* * *

Usually by the time Thor is kissing his way back up her body he's chuckling and she's giggling. Neither of them are doing that right now. Jane's flushed with pleasure and she's gone a little hoarse — Thor encourages her to be, ah, exuberant, and he certainly makes it easy — but the usual giddiness she feels at moments like this is absent.

Guilt has a way of taking the fun out of things, apparently.

And Thor's off, too. He's always playful, never desperate, but now there's a greedy way he's kneading her breasts and hooking her legs over his waist.

He's not a talker in bed, but he's not afraid to make his _exuberance_ known through groans and other very nice noises. And he's beautiful when he does it. But then, Thor's just beautiful in general.

Which is why Jane generally doesn't mind keeping the lights on. In most circumstances. Who wouldn't want to look, to watch as his back flexes and his face flushes and his body moves between her thighs?

He really is golden.

Jane looks up at the ceiling and tries not to think of pale skin and dark hair. 

* * *

Jane turns her face away and tries not to think of broad chests and strong arms.

"I know what you're doing. But I'm afraid pretending you're with someone else won't be quite so easy."

She wonders how much it'd shock him to know she's trying _not_ to think about his brother.

"Or will it be?" Loki's hands roam tenderly across her rib cage. There are bruises on his knuckles again. She doesn't want to know how he got them. "We don't share blood, but are we similar as all that? I can't imagine so."

"Why are you doing this right now?"

"Why not?" His fingers splay wide across her hips and change the angle of her movements. "Did he do this for you? What skill can it possibly it take, to give you pleasure after earning your love? You _want_ to enjoy it for _him_. You'd rather feel nothing for me—" he changes the angle again, and it feels inhumanly good "—but here you are."

For a moment she really thinks she's going to cry — for him, for her, for all three of them. "God, Loki," she whispers, "you are _so_ fucked up."

He smiles. "And what," he says, tangling one hand in her hair to pull her close, "does that make you?" 

* * *

Thor goes for depth and friction and caresses and ever increasing speed. 

* * *

Loki slides a hand between their bodies to tease her in time with his thrusts. 

* * *

"I love you," Thor tells Jane for the first time, driving deeper as her body starts to shake.

She is too far gone to respond. 

* * *

"I hate you," Jane tells Loki for the hundredth time, her fingers curling into the bedsheets.

He gasps against her neck as she rides him through her climax. 

* * *

Afterwards, Thor says: "Have you made a decision yet about whether you're staying?" 

* * *

Afterwards, Loki says: "Have you told Thor yet that you're staying?" 

* * *

She didn't mean for this to happen. 

* * *

She only wants to study the stars. 

* * *

"I'm still thinking about it," she tells Thor. 

* * *

"I'm still thinking about it," she tells Loki. 

* * *

"Take as much time as you need," says Thor. 

* * *

Loki just laughs.


	10. Chapter 10

There is no way, no possible way, that it was an accident. Loki has always known Darcy's schedule better than Jane, maybe even better than Darcy herself. He's perfectly aware of when they're going to have hours to themselves to do things that Jane keeps allowing but hates herself for later.

So when Darcy walks in during one of the rare times they're in the living room — they weren't going to stay there! They just hadn't made it to bed yet! — when Loki just _happens_ to still be completely dressed but Jane's lost her top and his hand is in her pants, knuckle deep and working against places Jane didn't even know she _had—_

—yeah. It was deliberate. _How_, Jane has no idea. But how does Loki do anything?

Darcy drops her bag of groceries as Jane squeaks, shoving Loki away and fumbling for her shirt.

Loki, however, just sits up, licks his fingers clean, and grins. _Yes, I did this on purpose, I'll do it again if I feel like it, and I dare you to stop me._

Jane would hit him, but that would only serve as encouragement. "Get out," she hisses.

He raises an eyebrow. "Are you certain? We could relocate to your room. I'd hate to leave you unsatisfied."

"No. _Get. Out._"

Loki shrugs elegantly, flashes Darcy a brilliant smile — who stands frozen in place, eyes wide, ignoring the broken eggs oozing all over the linoleum — and grabs his coat as he leaves. He still hasn't fixed the doorbell.

Oh, God. Oh, _God_.

"That… that was…" Jane struggles for the right words as she stands and hitches her jeans back up. "That was… okay, that was exactly what it looked like."

"No shit." Darcy finally picks up the groceries and makes a face at the sofa. "Ugh. I want that thing cleaned."

"Um. Yeah. I didn't mean… I mean, I didn't think we'd—"

"Don't care. Cleaned."

Okay. That's fair.

Jane waits, fidgeting as Darcy sticks what's left of the food in the fridge and wipes yolk from the floor. After two minutes, she can't take it anymore. "Aren't you going to say anything?" she blurts out.

"Oh, right. Definitely. Who's better?"

Jane blinks. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"

"Pretty much. Was there something else?"

"I— I don't know! I'm a terrible person! I'm having sex with a guy I hate who's also my boyfriend's brother! I'm doing it in the living room of our apartment!"

"Yeah, that last part's pretty gross. The rest of it's been obvious for ages."

"What do you mean, 'obvious'? It hasn't been going on that long!"

"Come _on_, Jane. You can't tell me you know where this was headed from day one." Darcy pulls a chair over from the table and sits down on it, still eyeing the couch with distaste. "You're going to be a scientist, aren't you supposed to predict stuff?"

That's easily the most crushing thing Darcy could have said. The data was there. _Everything_ is predictable with enough data. The fault was in Jane's calculations. "No. I didn't."

"See, now, if you actually paid attention to _EastEnders_ you would have seen it coming a bazillion miles off. Which one?"

Jane shifts in her seat. Part of her — a very teensy, very unreasonable part — wishes she'd taken Loki up on the offer to go back to the bedroom. She'd been _really_ close. "I don't want to talk about it," she says.

"Oh, please, I just caught you getting a handjob from a vampire and I'm probably going to need therapy or something. I am _owed_ details."

"Fine. I don't know who's better. They're just… different."

"Okay then, who's bigger?"

"I am _so_ not going there."

"You suck. Does Thor know?"

"_What?_ Of course he doesn't know! I'm cheating on him with his _brother!_"

Darcy, unconcerned as ever by Jane's stress, or _anyone's_ stress, just shrugs. "Hey, everyone's got their thing. Maybe he wouldn't mind."

"He'd mind. Trust me, he'd mind."

"Oh. So… who are you going to break it off with? Because that—" Darcy gestures vaguely at the couch "—is _probably_ not a long-term business plan."

"I know." She knows. God, how she knows. But she doesn't exactly know how to say how Thor's willing to give up everything for her and she's not sure Loki would _let_ her break it off and both of them just have ways of getting what they want because that's just how it's always worked for them. "I don't know how it happened. I just want to pass this class."

"Well, this definitely a better way to do it than getting arrested."

"You're no help."

"I'm not your Jiminy Cricket. If you're so worried, we'll be going home soon."

"They both want me to stay."

"Oh. Then you're completely screwed."

Yeah. She knows that too.

* * *

A few hours later she gets a message from that damned blocked number again. _Shall we finish what we started?_

The texts that follow are so obscenely filthy that Jane has to go hide in her bedroom and almost falls from the mattress getting herself off.

* * *

Darcy's right. She _could_ tell Thor.

Just… get it out of the way. Get it over with. Loki's going to tell him anyway, she knows it — and it won't have anything to do with what she has or hasn't done. It's not going to be some kind of blackmail or punishment. No, sooner or later Loki will invite his brother to a pub, buy him a beer, ask with a smile how many times he, Thor, has succeeded in bringing Jane off in a single session, because he, Loki, has managed four and is developing several possible methods by which to reach five. And he'll do this because he'll suddenly, randomly, see some benefit in doing so. Even if the benefit doesn't make sense to anyone but him.

And there's absolutely nothing she'll be able to do to prevent it.

Unless she confesses first.

Yes. The more she thinks about it, the more sense it makes.

She thinks about it when Thor takes her to dinner at another one of those restaurants where there's only three things on the menu. She has the sea bass.

She thinks about it on the ride back to his apartment.

She thinks about it as he's got her naked in bed, spooned against his front— an unusual choice for him — and leaving a definite hickey on the back of her neck.

The last one is a really, _really_ bad time to be thinking about it.

But, well… Darcy had a point. Maybe he wouldn't mind. Everyone's got their thing, right?

Jane almost laughs through her orgasm. That's how ridiculous _that_ idea is.

He won't share. She doesn't really _want_ to be shared, even though that doesn't make much logical sense since she's sharing herself at the moment. So if she wants to confess to her sins and have _any_ hope of salvaging the situation, she definitely can't be doing the whole sinning things anymore. Saying _I'm sleeping with your brother, who is incredibly unstable if not actually insane, and I'm not even sure **why** I'm doing it, it just keeps happening, and I should probably stop but there's a good chance he'll turn up tonight after I go home because he'll know I've been here and he gets off on that for reasons that I don't understand but are definitely sick_ isn't much of an apology.

What a mess she's made of everything.

Thor is distracted afterwards, looking at the ceiling and petting her back with automatic, mechanical strokes. Jane knows she should ask what's wrong. It's that good girlfriend protocol thing again. Not that she's being a good girlfriend right now, but still—

—except she _knows_ what's wrong.

She could just tell him to change his mind, choose his brother instead of her, it's okay, she understands. He'd be hurt, but… maybe not as hurt as he might think.

But that would mean sticking him with _Loki_, who'd forever be close enough — and above suspicion — to keep screwing around with Thor's life in any way that evil brain of his can think of.

Whereas if she tells Thor the truth, he'd know to never, ever, _ever_ trust Loki again.

That would be best for him.

It'd probably be best for her.

It might even be best for Loki.

But then Thor strokes her hair, strokes her side, kisses her forehead. "I love you, Jane," he murmurs. "_Du er fortsatt vakrere enn stjernene._"

And… yeah.

Jane never, ever wanted this.

* * *

Loki's not waiting for her when she gets back, but it's only forty-five minutes before he shows up like a stray cat expecting a meal. "You can't be here," she snaps as he slips into her bedroom. "Darcy's home."

"Oh, is that a problem? I'd thought the situation had been made fairly clear to her."

"That was your fault."

"It was not. I told you, Jane, I prefer only to be blamed for the things I've actually done."

"I don't believe you."

He smirks at her, already removing his clothes. "That's because you're not a fool."

Which has to be the biggest lie he's told her yet.


	11. Chapter 11

Jane could kill him for this one.

No, seriously. All the crap he's put her through, all his lies and manipulations and heartlessness and just generally being… _him_, and it's _this_ that she's going to lose it over.

She's supposed to be writing about how Lemaître's primeval atom theory connects to incompatibilism. Which she studied. Last night. With Loki. And for once she actually knows not only what she wants to say, but how she wants to say it.

God knows they went over it enough times.

_Extremely_ thoroughly.

Which is why Jane's squirming in her seat and has broken three pencils so far. The primeval atom is now neurally linked to Loki bending her over the side of the bed, and incompatibilism is his fingers tracing down her spine, and she just hates him _so_ much and she is _never_ going to get through this exam.

And he knows. She _knows_ he knows what he's done. She can feel his smugness from the back of the room, just like always. The asshole just _radiates_ satisfaction.

Jane is going to be an astrophysicist, the best in the world if she has anything to say about it. She can't just start making associations with physics and sex. She'll never get anything _done_.

He is _ruining_ her.

She finishes up the questions as quickly as she can, probably earning a lower grade than she would have otherwise — and she may very well tell Loki to change it, since this basically counts as sabotage — then stalks from the room, kicking him in the ankle as she walks by his desk.

Jerk.

She only makes it halfway down the hall before Loki's caught up to her, thanks to those ridiculously long legs. "Those essays seemed to cause you some difficulty," he says.

"Nope."

"Ah. Perhaps I was mistaken."

"You were."

"Because I could have sworn you looked a bit… uncomfortable."

And he grins.

_Yes, I've made it so you can't think about Georges Lemaître without getting wet as Niagara Falls, I'll find some other vital subject to destroy for you too, and I dare you to stop me._

Oh, she'll _give_ him uncomfortable.

Two turns down into an empty hallway, then Jane grabs Loki's hand and jerks him into a supply closet. She's under no great illusions about her own strength, which means that he's coming along compliantly, and only pretending to be surprised when she pushes him against the wall — which knocks over two brooms and a thankfully empty bucket — and kisses him like she's dying. She might be.

"I hate you," she says when they come up for air, her fingers working at his belt. "I hate you _so_ much, you have no idea."

He groans and tries to pull her back into another kiss. She dodges and gets on her knees instead, yanking his pants halfway down his thighs.

_This_, weirdly enough, seems to fluster him. Though he can seem however he wants. "Jane?"

"Shut up," she tells him, just before taking him in her mouth without any preamble and getting straight to work.

Loki makes a choked noise.

Which is more or less _exactly_ what Jane was going for.

She hasn't done this to him before, and the scientific part of her mind — which is most of it, even at times like this — is cataloguing his reactions into a neat little file labeled 'Loki, Sexual Behavior'. Before long she's crossing out her primary hypothesis, which had him still and smug and refusing to react; thirty seconds later the secondary hypothesis is gone too, the one that had him as gently guiding her movements and murmuring poisoned words of approval.

But observation of the way he can't figure out where to put his hands, the way he squirms, the way she has to get a grip on his thighs to stop him from bucking into her mouth, brings her to the unavoidable conclusion that she's finally found the one thing Loki is bad at.

Even better.

Her plan of revenge had been to bring him right to the edge and then stalk out with her head held high, because that's what he deserves, the asshole. But when he starts to grab her hair in a violation of etiquette that would embarrass a fifteen year old boy, Jane makes the mistake of looking up.

He's _wrecked_.

Either his acting is beyond even what she thought it was — and she's pretty sure no one rates his ability to lie higher than her — or Loki has never had a blowjob in his life.

If she were as cold-blooded as him, she'd probably follow through with the original plan.

But she's not him.

Not yet, anyway.

So she finishes him off — even swallows — and doesn't comment on the way he shook or clutched at her hair. Or those silent tears that sometimes turn up without him noticing.

She does, however, leave him in the storage closet without a word.

* * *

To Jane's absolute _lack_ of surprise, Loki's exactly the same as always when he shows up that night, and they don't mention any part of what happened, aside from him agreeing to change her grade on the exam. However it is that he manages to do those things. Jane's still not convinced it's not magic.

* * *

"I hit you with that car," Jane blurts out.

Thor, who is making dinner — _actually making dinner_, though it's eggs because he really only knows how to cook breakfast — glances over his shoulder at where she's sitting at his table. "I beg your pardon?"

"I hit you with the car. When we met. I hit you."

"Yes, I seem to recall that."

"No. You don't understand. I didn't graze you, I _hit you_. I knocked you down and gave you a concussion." She's babbling now, but it's so important to say this. "And it wasn't your fault for being in the crosswalk. And it wasn't Darcy's fault for distracting me. It was just me. I messed up. And I knew it, even when I was telling everyone I didn't do anything wrong. So I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hit you, and I'm sorry I acted like I didn't."

It doesn't alleviate her guilt, but at least she's managed an apology for _something_. And maybe if she can apologize for this, the _next_ apology will come easier.

It doesn't.

"I'm sorry," Jane says again, trying to prompt herself into continuing her confession.

"I'm not," says Thor. He turns off the stove and smiles at her brilliantly. _His_ grins are never edged. "If you had not been completely at fault for the incident, both morally and legally, I could never have coerced you into going out with me."

"You didn't coerce me."

"Of course I did. I suggested I would press charges unless you agreed to let me buy you a pint. That would be blackmail." His smile widens. It's that Master of the Universe look. "And as I don't intend to apologize to you for it, there is no cause for _you_ to apologize to _me_."

Sometimes — not often, but sometimes — she can really see how they're brothers.

He takes the eggs off the stove and comes over to kiss her hand. His lips are soft and she's angry at him for not being sorry and she's angry at him for not being angry with her.

Clearly she's going as crazy as Loki.

There's no such thing as telepathy, of course, but the next — very hesitant — words out of Thor's mouth are: "Have you spoken to my brother recently?"

Define recently. "We're still in class together."

"Yes, I presumed so, but— I suppose I meant, has _he_ spoken to _you_."

Define spoken. "Why do you ask?"

The 'Family Drama' line appears between Thor's eyebrows as he pulls out a chair and sits. "Mother's birthday is next week," he explains, "and Father arranged a party. As a surprise. A rather large one." He smiles wanly. "She's many friends."

Jane can see where this is going. "You want me to ask Loki to come?"

"It makes no difference how many people are there unless he is too. Not to Mother."

"Can't you track him down on campus?" He can.

Thor looks uncomfortable. "If I am to ask— well, my brother is more likely to attend if the request comes from you."

"What makes you say that?"

She knows exactly what makes him say that. He knows — or thinks he knows — that Loki is 'in love' with her. He knows — or thinks he knows — that Loki might refuse to show up at his own mother's birthday party if Thor asks him to 'suffer the pain' of seeing the two of them together. He knows — or thinks he knows — that if _Jane_ were to ask, Loki might say yes. He knows — or thinks he knows — that Jane has that kind of power.

They're all hiding so much from each other.

She wills him silently to just _tell_ her he's chosen her over his brother. Maybe if he says something first, she can do the same. Even though her confession is about a thousand times worse.

But— "It's just a suspicion," is all Thor says.

She agrees.

* * *

So does Loki. If Jane promises to go too.

"Oh, no," she says. "No. No, no, _no_."

"Why not?"

"_Why not?_ You and Thor will be in the same building."

"A rather large building."

"Odin would hate it."

"A bonus."

"Seriously, are you insane?"

"The possibility has come under discussion in the past, I confess."

Somehow she winds up agreeing as well. Probably the bizarrely sensitive spot he finds on the back of her knee has something to do with it.

* * *

"So… Loki _does_ listen to you."

"Not really. He just sees an opportunity to make things worse. Do you have another dress I can borrow?"

"I'm pretty sure," says Darcy, "that what you're wearing? Isn't going to matter."


	12. Chapter 12

The party is enormous, and it takes Jane approximately three minutes to understand that she isn't meant for upper-crust society.

Not that anyone is rude — at least, not that Jane can tell. Rich people have a way of being mean and courteous at the same time. But Odin doesn't make a scene, and the way Thor blithely introduces her to everyone without a hint that anything should be strange about him dating a discount-dress-wearing American with a complete inability to make small talk _might_ be why everyone has settled for nothing more than the occasional raised eyebrow.

When she whispers something to Thor about it, he just chuckles. "They're used to scandal in this family," he whispers back. "It keeps us interesting, you see."

"What kind of scandal?" _What did Loki do?_ is on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn't want to say his name lest he appear out of the woodwork like Beetlejuice. He's got to be around here somewhere, but she hasn't seen him yet.

"Oh, Mother choosing Father, for a start. She's entirely too well-bred to be connected to a foreign businessman, no matter how rich."

"So why did she marry him?"

Thor shrugs. "They love each other."

Jane glances at Odin, who is on the other side of the room, chatting with what could almost be considered manners to the people around him. Apparently he _can_ speak English when he feels like it. "I… have trouble picturing that."

"You may be surprised at which couples can make it," he says. Then he squeezes her hand.

Jane really, really hopes there will be champagne soon.

* * *

Mrs. Odinson is both shocked and delighted when she walks in to find her home full of the most impressive people in Britain getting drunk and praising her name… or at least, she seems to be. But when Jane congratulates Thor on pulling off the surprise, Thor laughs and says: "I think she suspected, if not knew outright."

"Really? But she looked—"

"Mother is an excellent actress when she wants to be."

In a few minutes she comes to kiss their cheeks and fuss over Thor's cleverness at deception. "I'd no idea," she assures him, and, yep, right there, there it is, there's that smile Jane's come to know _extremely_ well. Mrs. Odinson is lying. Either she taught her second son how to do it, or he just picked it up and honed it to an art form, but that's where it came from.

Explains a lot, actually.

"I thanked Loki as well, but he said he had nothing to do with it," says Mrs. Odinson. "It would seem you've grown rather tricky yourself."

Thor blinks. "He's here?"

"He is." The expression on Mrs. Odinson's face temporarily alleviates any misgivings Jane feels about exerting her influence to get Loki to come — not that he would have if he didn't want to anyway. The older woman is beaming with joy. "Have you not seen him?"

"Not yet." Thor looks almost as happy as his mother…

…and just like that, the shame comes rushing back.

"Well, you know how he likes to keep to himself at these things. I'm certain he'll reappear sooner or later."

Jane watches as her boyfriend's mother makes her rounds through the room, holding herself like a queen. "How old is she, anyway?"

"I thought it was considered impolite to ask such questions of a woman."

"We're okay with it at birthday parties."

"Ah, I wasn't aware of the exception. She's forty-five."

"Are you kidding? She's only _f__orty-five_?"

He laughs. "Now that _is_ impolite."

"But you're… how old was she when she married your father?"

"Twenty-two."

That's a year older than Jane is now.

And she had Thor at _two_ years older than Jane is now.

How did his parents meet? Did Odin come to England to study? Did Mrs. Odinson ask him to stay at the end of the semester?

Did she have a sister?

Suddenly the entire room is too full of people. "It's getting kind of warm in here," she tells Thor. "I'm going to… uh… go someplace quieter for a little while."

"Are you well?"

"Yeah, yeah. Fine. Just give me a couple minutes, okay?"

"Of course." He tells her the library with the easily-frightened first editions is closed to the party, and she remembers her way.

* * *

What the hell is she doing.

No, really. What the hell is she doing.

Jane sits in the library on the edge of a desk that was probably made two hundred years before her birth. That's nothing, in astrophysical terms. Some of the light in the night sky comes from stars that burned out thousands of years ago.

Supernovas feel closer than this world, right now.

It's fine when they're talking walks through the city, or eating breakfast-dinner in his flat, or in bed where she's gotten used to the really nice sheets. But Thor comes with _this_ too, what's basically going to be a throne, and she's known since she was old enough to look through her father's telescope that she wants to track gravitational anomalies and process particle data more than she wants anything else in the entire world.

Thor loves her, and she might… she _might_ love Thor, she doesn't know, how do you tell, but she can't walk into a room like a queen. And she doesn't want to learn how.

She just wants to make it through this semester.

Jane swipes at her eyes before she starts to cry. Her cheap mascara would run if she did.

"Oh, dear. I know the party is dull, but isn't this a bit melodramatic?"

Typical. "Go away."

He doesn't. It's Loki. The earth would crack open and swallow him if he ever did something he didn't want to. "I mean it," she says. "Go away. I'm not in the mood for this."

"And how is that a change from our usual state of affairs?"

She just shakes her head.

Loki pulls out a handkerchief. Because he's wearing a suit that was probably tailor made for him and of course those come with handkerchiefs. Jane hopes for a half-second that he's going to just pass it to her, but he doesn't — and why would he, when he can tilt her chin up and dry her tears himself with one of those intimate gestures he uses like knives?

"I _did_ warn you you were ill-suited," he says, his thumb lingering on her cheek.

Of course he'd remind her of that. "It's not Thor that's the problem," she snaps. "It's… everything else."

"Oh, you mean wealth and prestige and freedom to move through the world at will. Yes, I can see how the stress of such a burden would fracture an otherwise flawless relationship."

"You don't know anything."

"You should be thanking me. Is it not better to end the charade sooner rather than later?"

"If you think it's what _we're_ doing that's making me think—"

"No, no, it's nothing to do with you and I. It was his moronic decision to ask you to stay — and after only, what, a little over three months together?" Loki makes a tsk-ing noise. "Quite the pressure he put on his little scientist."

He's not wrong, and that makes her hate him even more. "So why should I be thanking you?"

"Because I'm the one who told Thor do it."

What? "What?"

"Well, I suppose I might be overstating the matter." Loki shrugs in falsely modest concession. "I offered no suggestion either way. But after we first 'met' I _may_ have told him you seemed like a nice enough girl, and what a shame it was your connection couldn't last more than a few weeks, since long-distance relationships _never_ survive…"

He…

There are about fifty things Jane wants to say right now, but the only one she can manage is, "Why do you do these things? Why do you have to make everyone else as miserable as you are?"

"Why not?"

She could kill him.

She could kill him even as he leans in to kiss another tear from her cheek. "I've done you a favor, Jane," he murmurs. "I _told_ you I could be kind. This is the most kindness I've ever shown to anyone, I swear it."

"What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Perhaps you've somehow transformed my brother into a paragon, but it makes no difference. Anyone with half a wit can see I took you from him weeks ago, and still he goes on, trusting us both. How could such a fool satisfy you?" Another kiss, this one to the side of her neck. "Blame his status, or me if you must, but Thor will never be what you need, and I'll never grow tired of watching you realize it."

She shoves him away and slaps him.

This only makes him smile, so she hits him again. Harder. Hard enough to sting her hand and leave a bright red mark on his face.

"You're _done_ watching," she hisses. "Whatever happens with Thor and I, if we break up or if I have a hundred half-Norwegian babies, _you_ won't be a part of it. As soon as this class is over I won't _see_ you, I won't _speak_ to you, if I leave tomorrow I won't say goodbye, if I stay for fifty years I won't look at you if I pass you in the street. Your little voyeur game is _over_ — and you are _never_ going to touch me again. Got it?"

Loki stares at her.

"What's going on here?"

It's funny how all of the variables since the birth of the universe came together to form this exact moment. Destined from the first transformation of energy into matter, thirteen billion years ago. Jane just never had enough of the equation to see it.

Thor grabs Loki by the collar and slams him into a bookshelf. Loki's presence always seems to take up the whole room — unless his older brother is there.

"_What is going on here,_" Thor repeats, through gritted teeth.

Loki glances at Jane.

Oh, God.

She braces herself.

But then Loki looks back at Thor and, of all things, starts to chuckle. "Quite the honorable little woman you've found here," he says. "One can't even declare one's affection without inciting a rather… _violent_ loyalty."

Jane blinks.

"Please don't let it be said I never tried," Loki continues. He takes hold of Thor's wrists and pulls them away from his jacket. "I _did_. I did try, but I warned you it would be too painful to see the two of you together, and under such circumstances I find it's a bit— ah, _difficult_ to keep my feelings to myself." His smile widens as his voice _drips_ with arrogance. "I suppose I ought not have tried to kiss her, but how could I resist? That mouth… well, _you_ understand, surely."

Loki is, without a shadow of a doubt, the most skilled liar Jane has ever seen.

Why he devotes all that talent to being an awful person, she'll never know.

Thor's expression has turned absolutely murderous, but he takes a step back. "This is Mother's birthday," he growls, and, yeah, Jane can still hear the party going on distantly. "Out of respect for her, I won't make you pay for this as I wish I could. Apologize to Jane, then leave before I change my mind."

Loki's smile vanishes in a flash. "Oh," he snarls, "cast out _again_, am I? Well. At least we've returned to familiar terrain."

"I won't do this again. No one cast you out. You _left_."

"Is that what you tell yourself?"

"It's the truth."

"How odd, because I seem to recall events rather differently. I recall spending our entire lives rescuing _you_ from whatever disaster you managed to create through your own stupidity, never getting a word of thanks for it—"

"I made mistakes, I acknowledge that, but I _never_ failed to—"

"—but then when Odin decided I was not his son and _I_ needed _you_—"

"You know damn well you did _everything_ you could to goad him—"

"—where were _you_ to come to _my_ aid—"

"How was I to _aid_ you when you wouldn't even _speak_ to me? I don't know what twisted fantasy you have of the past, brother—"

_"**I am not your brother!**"_

Thor takes another step back.

Jane doesn't want to be here for this. She doesn't want to be a part of it at all.

But it's really too late for that.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath, but: "I'm not your brother," Loki says again, more quietly. "I never was. And _you_—" he turns to Jane "—_you_ are but words."

There is absolutely no reason for that to hurt as much as it does — but then again, Jane's seen more than enough to know hurting people is Loki's best trick. And she's not exempt.

"That being said," he continues, "if the lady desires an apology, she shall have it. I will beg her pardon for _everything_, here and now, if she asks me to do so." The grin is back and razor-sharp. "Tell me, Jane Foster, is that what you want? Just say the word."

_Yes, I lied to protect you, but I can destroy you just as easily, and I dare you to stop me._

She never meant for this to happen.

Jane shakes her head. "I don't want anything from you," she whispers. "Just go. Please."

For once, Loki listens.

* * *

Jane and Thor stand in silence for nearly ten minutes afterwards.

She pretends not to be dying of guilt.

She pretends not to notice he's devastated.

Are all families like this?

"I am sorry, Jane," he says finally. "I should not have asked you to ask him to come."

She should tell him.

She should.

She can't.

"I better head home," she's starting to say—

—when it's Mrs. Odinson who opens the door. And takes in the situation at a glance, her eyes briefly lingering on Jane, which is terrifying, because however Thor might wear rose-colored glasses about his family, it's way too obvious that his mother does not.

"Your brother has left?" she asks.

Thor nods, then adds, choking on the words: "He's not my brother."

Jane bites her lip.

But Mrs. Odinson just shakes her head. "Don't be ridiculous," she says gently. "Of course he is."

* * *

A queen she might be, but Jane can't help but admire how Mrs. Odinson is perfectly ready to walk away from her own birthday party to follow her child wherever he's planning to go.

But it's still more than a little bit of a shock when, two hours later, she hasn't come back.


	13. Chapter 13

"As I said, they're used to scandal," says Thor with a wan smile as the last of the muttering guests depart just before midnight. "You needn't stay if you don't want, Jane."

"Of course I'm staying, don't be ridiculous. Should I make some coffee or something?"

"Oh. Yes, of course, just ask in the kitchen. You must be tired."

She's not. Jane's gotten used to surviving on very little sleep over the past month. Right now she doesn't want to think about why.

When she comes back with the coffee Thor is trying his mother's cell for the twentieth time.

According to him, she always answers.

* * *

An hour after that Thor starts pacing and doesn't stop. Maybe she shouldn't have made coffee after all.

Jane texts Darcy. At least she's a night owl too. _Are you home?_

_Yeah. How's the party?_

_Long story. Loki's not there, is he?_

A few minutes pass, then: _Nope. Checked under your bed and everything. Scary dust bunnies._

So much for that.

Odin just stands by the fireplace, face impassive. But the fact that he's not tried to get rid of Jane yet says it all.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, just as Thor has decided to go out searching, the police call.

* * *

Jane can't help but feel like an intruder in the emergency room. But she can't leave, either, and she can't look away when the doctor takes Odin and Thor aside and says something low. She can't not see it when Thor slams his fist against a wall and Odin staggers.

And, in the same hard plastic seat she sat on when waiting to find out if she'd seriously injured the handsome guy she'd grazed in a parking lot, she can't not hear the phone ringing in the blood-stained purse sitting at her side. The screen is cracked but readable. The number is blocked.

Jane can't not answer. "Loki?"

For a moment there's no response. Then: "Taken to stealing mobiles, have you?"

"Loki, listen—"

"I can hardly object, but I _would_ prefer you not practice pickpocketing on my mother."

"Loki, please—"

"I didn't call for _you_. Now, if you'd be so kind—"

Then Odin is standing in front of her. "I will speak to him," he says gruffly, and in perfect English.

Jane hands over the phone. Odin takes it without a word of thanks and turns away. "Loki. _Sønn_."

And Jane can't not hear this, either. "_Jeg har ingenting å si til deg, enten. Hvor er mor?_"

"Loki, _har det vært en ulykke. Moren din er død._"

A long pause, then she can hear Loki laughing. "_Nei, hun er ikke._"

"Loki."

"_Gi henne telefonen. Nå._"

"Loki. _Min sønn. Hvor er du?_"

She doesn't understand a word they're saying, but that doesn't stop it from being too private for her. Jane stands and walks to Thor, who is watching his father with red-rimmed eyes. She takes his hand.

It isn't enough.

After another minute of conversation Odin takes the phone from his ear and looks at it impassively. Jane doesn't have to see the screen to know Loki has hung up.

* * *

The first thing Odin does when they get back to the townhouse is go to bed.

When Jane looks at Thor incredulously, all he can do is shrug. "Father prefers to sleep during difficult times."

"Are you serious?"

"I am. He barely left his room for weeks after Loki left."

But— he— "That has got to be the least useful coping mechanism I've ever heard."

"It's the way he's always been. Mother is the one who…" But Thor can't continue the sentence. He sinks into a parlor chair, head in his hands.

Jane remembers how, after her parents died, Erik sat down with her and said _There is order to the universe, Jane_. For her, those were the most comforting words anyone could have offered. There is order. There are variables, and they can be missed, the way her parents missed their worn tires and the sudden thunderstorm, but there is _order_.

But what helped her isn't going to help Thor. She might be the worst girlfriend ever, but she knows him well enough for that.

He's got his mother's phone in his hand. Jane watches as he turns it over and over. "Is there something I can do?" she says instead. "People to… I don't know, call?"

Thor shakes his head. "No. No one that can't wait until morning. It was just us."

And he turns the phone over again.

She's not good with people. But she doesn't need to be. What Thor wants is so obvious he practically radiates it.

So she'll get it for him.

That, at least, she can do.

"I'll be back soon," she says, grabbing her coat. "I forgot something at the hospital."

* * *

Okay, that's a lie. But's only a little white one.

* * *

She doesn't get an answer when she rings the buzzer. That's hardly a surprise.

So she goes to mint garden and throws pebbles at his darkened window like a teenager.

Nothing.

He _is_ home, right? He has to be. Where else would he have gone?

Jane swallows.

Well, she got into his apartment once; she can do it again. This time she drags over a concrete birdbath and hoists herself up, scraping the hell out of her hands in the process. The lock gives even faster this time — kind of surprising that he didn't do something to strengthen it — and slithers through the window, probably flashing the entire neighborhood. Breaking and entering is not good work for a dress.

Everything is pitch black. She tries to take a step forward and immediately stubs her toe against something splintered. "Loki?" she whispers.

A small sigh.

Until this moment, Jane had no idea how sick with worry she was. 'Flood of relief' is just a stupid turn of phrase, but apparently it's an apt one, because Jane feels like she might drown. "Turn on the light. I can't see a thing."

Another sigh, a click, and a lamp on the other side of the room flicks on. Forty watts, maybe, but it's enough.

He's destroyed _everything_.

"There," he says dully. "Now you see me."

Weirdly enough, this is probably the most honest he's ever been with her.

Jane picks her way past the broken furniture to where Loki sits cross-legged on the bed, leaning back with his head against the wall, eyes closed. The floor is covered in shattered glass. Blood is dripping from the soles of his bare feet.

She sits down next to him on the mattress, since the only chair is in pieces. He reeks of liquor. "Are you all right?"

"Me? Oh, I'm lovely." He doesn't open his eyes. "Can't you tell?"

"No, I— I just meant that you're bleeding. A lot."

"Hmm."

"Do you have any tweezers?"

"For what purpose?"

"To get the glass out."

"Am I bothering with that?"

"You can't leave half a whiskey bottle stuck under your skin, Loki."

"Why not?"

Jane bites back a retort. He knows all the right buttons to press with her, and she's not going to fight back. Not right now. "All right," she says, and reaches into his pants pocket, fishing around until she finds his handkerchief. It's still smeared with her mascara. "I'll do it myself."

"If it pleases you."

"It does."

It'd be easier with tools and better light, but the handkerchief soaks up the worst of the blood and Jane once had to pick most of a beaker out of her arm after a chemistry experiment that went awry. Each sliver of glass she works free gets tossed on the floor with the others.

They're silent for about five minutes before he asks: "Did she suffer?"

"No. The collision was straight on."

"And the driver?"

"Still alive, but it sounds like he got burned up pretty bad. They're not sure he's going to make it."

"Oh, I imagine he won't."

She pauses and looks up. "Huh?"

"Tragic mistakes often happen in these large, busy, understaffed hospitals." Loki's eyes are still closed, and his tone is flatter than she's ever heard it. "Medical records are such tricky things. If a patient's file fails to note an allergy to penicillin, or a sensitivity to morphine—"

"_Loki!_"

"—or even that he has a negative blood type instead of a positive one, well… I doubt even my upstanding brother would object to such a fortuitous turn of events."

"You're drunk, and you're in shock, so I'm going to pretend you didn't say any of that."

"Do you doubt me capable, Jane Foster?"

"I don't know what you're capable of. I don't _want_ to know."

"Remind me when I'm in a less altered state to tell you of some of the people I've befriended over the last year. I may seem less appalling by comparison. Was she at that intersection because she was on her way here? Was she coming after me?"

"Yes."

The little noise he makes in the back of his throat is one she sort of vaguely remembers. She thinks she made it when she found out about her parents.

There is order to the universe. All the pieces of the puzzle are there to be found. There is no such thing as indeterminism. There's _not_.

The last piece of glass comes out; he's still oozing blood, but at least he's too drunk to feel any pain. "Okay," she says. "Get cleaned up. I'm taking you home."

He starts to chuckle. "What home?"

"I mean it, Loki. Your dad's gone and locked himself in his room—"

"Good lord, not _again_."

"—and Thor's all alone. He needs your help."

"Really? Why?" He opens his eyes at this and just _looks_ at her. "He has _you_. You _fixed_ him. He already made his choice, and it certainly wasn't _me_."

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh, God, he is _so_ messed up.

"Maybe he chose me," she says hesitantly, "but you— you _forced_ him to, and it's been eating at him ever since he did. He was never happier than when he thought you were going to start coming back. I know you two have your differences—"

Loki laughs harder.

"—but you're family."

"He is not my family. Thor is nothing to me."

He's truly destroyed if that's the best he can manage. "_Everything_ is about Thor with you. _Everything_. You need him as much as he needs you. Maybe more. You don't have the slightest idea how to live your life without him."

Jane expects some kind of blow-up from that, or at least an appropriately cutting remark. And she might deserve it. This isn't the time for hard truths. His mom just died.

Instead he reaches up to clumsily stroke her cheek. "I was going to try," he whispers.

Then he slumps forward and lays his head in her lap with a sigh. She lets him do it. She might not know most of the things to do in this situation, and she might not be good with sentiment, but this one's pretty obvious.

She might hate him, but she doesn't not _care_.

"Is this how you intend to alleviate your guilt?" His breath is warm against her leg. "Will you pay your debt of infidelity by delivering me to my brother like a condolence bouquet?"

"Maybe. Does it matter? You need each other. More than either of you need me."

"And you would know all about our relationship, would you."

"No, but I know him… and I know you." She touches his hair. It's damp with sweat. "At least a little bit. Don't I?"

His fingers dig into her skin. "As well as anyone living, I suppose," he says, choking on the last words.

And she lets him cry for awhile, because that's obvious, too.

"Come on," she says eventually. "We'll get some band aids and some coffee. Whatever's left to deal with between you and Thor, just… set it aside and get over it."

Loki stiffens like a cat backed into a corner. "I can't get over it."

"It's what your mother would want."

"I can't."

Jane touches his chin and tilts his tear-streaked face towards hers. "Then _lie_," she tells him.

Loki stares up at her for a solid minute… then huffs a small laugh. "You know," he says, "I think I may actually be in love with you."

* * *

The sky is pink with dawn by the time Loki's sober enough go back to the townhouse. Jane waits at the bottom of the steps as he knocks on the door.

Thor opens it and looks even worse than when Jane left him. "Brother," he says, with more than a twinge of hesitant hope in his voice.

There's a long moment — and Jane can't see Loki's face, but his shoulders start to shake. "I'm sorry," he blurts out. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry—"

Jane's not sure if he's faking. He's too good. But she really, really hopes he's not.

Regardless, Thor pulls him into an embrace. And that's enough.

She sighs, turns away, and heads home to get some sleep.

* * *

_Relevant phrases, as according to questionably accurate online translators:_

_Sønn_. —Son.  
_Jeg har ingenting å si til deg, enten. Hvor er mor?_ —I have nothing to say to you, either. Where's mother?  
_Har det vært en ulykke. Moren din er død._ —There has been an accident. Your mother is dead.  
_Nei, hun er ikke._ —No, she's not.  
_Gi henne telefonen. Nå._ —Give her the phone. Now.  
_Min sønn. Hvor er du?_ —My son. Where are you?


	14. Chapter 14

For once, if Loki were to show up at her apartment in the middle of the night, Jane is fairly certain she'd be okay with it. She doesn't know what she'd _do_, exactly, but she wouldn't try to kick him out. At least she thinks she wouldn't. Maybe.

Irrelevant. He doesn't come.

And she'd go to Thor's flat, but he's staying with his father for now and her presence there would be uncomfortable at best. Even Thor acknowledges that when he calls. And he _does_ call — regularly — but there's not really a lot of time to talk. Funerals aren't the easiest things to arrange, especially for people of their level, _especially_ especially when one's father refuses to come out of his room.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asks at one point.

"Thank you, but Loki and I seem to have it in hand." There's an awkward pause after that. Jane suspects one of the other reasons she's not been invited to the townhouse is because Loki has been there and, given how things went the last time the three of them were in a room together…

…but what matters is that Loki is there.

It's a good thing.

Please, let it be a good thing.

Regardless, the temporary separation is useful, because Jane has to write her final paper for class, which, what with one thing or another, she's left off until the very last minute.

Well, it's no big deal. Just ten thousand words arguing against the existence of free will.

Right.

She knows what she wants to say, at least. Just not… _how_ to say it. Or how to make it remotely convincing to anyone else.

In certain moments, very lost moments where she stares at the ceiling and is too tired to sleep, she's not even sure _she's_ convinced anymore.

* * *

The funeral is enormous. Someone Jane doesn't recognize but is probably really important gives the eulogy, and it doesn't surprise her to hear that Mrs. Odinson did about three thousand amazing things over the course of her life. Everyone is crying except Jane, Thor, and Odin.

Jane, because she's not sure she has the right.

Thor, because he never does.

Odin, because… well, who knows. Maybe he never does either. Maybe that's where Thor got it, like Loki got his tricks from his mother.

And speaking of Loki, for once, Jane isn't relieved that he's not visible. The seat they saved is empty. He's got to be here — if there is one thing, only one in the entire universe, that Jane would lay all her money on, it's that Loki would have to be dead himself to miss his mother's funeral — but she hasn't seen him all day.

She says something to Thor about it. He only whispers back: "I'd be more concerned if I _could_ see him."

That's probably a good point.

Still, she worries.

* * *

She sits next to Thor through the service, but fades into the background herself during the luncheon afterwards. She's already getting too much attention. A lot of these people saw her at the birthday party; if she's standing next to Thor as he accepts condolences, she has the sneaking suspicion she'll wind up on a society page or something. This seems like the kind of crowd that winds up on society pages.

Or maybe she's just getting paranoid.

Odin is by his son's side, but he says next to nothing. And there's still no sign of Loki. But Thor doesn't seem to need help with this, at least; he's good with people, and takes their handshakes and murmured regrets graciously. He's like that. He's easy to love.

Jane just finds a quiet corner to sit in and pick at the edge of her black dress. She's up to two whole dresses, now. The Uncertainty Principle made it fantastically unlikely — though not literally impossible — for anyone to predict that billions of years of atoms colliding would lead her to needing _two_—

—her cell buzzes in her purse.

She scrambles for it.

Darcy. _Things going okay?_

_Could be worse._

_Cool. Blackadder marathon tonight on Channel 2. I have vodka._

Jane smiles for the first time that day.

* * *

The burial is just her, Odin, Thor, and the priest, who says a few Bible verses that no one listens to. When there's a breeze Thor puts his suit jacket around her shoulders.

Loki turns up as the casket's being lowered. Unlike Thor, his face is salt-streaked and blotchy; the curse of pale skin, Jane supposes. But he's not crying now, and when he approaches to stand on the opposite side of the new tombstone — the birth and death dates match, exactly forty-five years apart — he drops a white rose on top of the coffin just before Thor tosses in the first handful of dirt. His knuckles are bruised again.

He and Thor glance at each other.

Thor nods.

Loki shrugs.

Well, that's something.

* * *

Odin walks away as soon as the last words are spoken. Thor goes to follow, but pauses when he sees neither Jane nor Loki are behind him. "Brother?" he says hesitantly.

"In a moment," says Loki.

Thor glances at Jane.

Maybe it's not smart, but she hasn't been smart through this whole thing, so why start now? "I'll be right there," she tells him.

The expression on Thor's face isn't one she's going to forget. But he nods, slowly, and gives them some privacy.

A minute passes while Loki stares into his mother's grave and Jane sums up everything she wants to say in her head. She organizes it into logical summaries, works the equations down to the simplest denominator, prepares to present conclusions in a clear, compelling, cohesive way.

"Loki—"

"Please don't," he says quietly. "If there has ever been a single moment you didn't detest me, don't."

So Jane swallows it back.

Instead she offers: "Have you finished your paper?" He looks at her in confusion, and she clarifies, "For class."

A dark little smile crosses his face. "I found that end of term quite slipped my mind."

"No— I know, I just…" That's not how she meant it. "When I don't know what to do, I work. So I thought maybe—"

"I always know what to do. Always."

So it's going to be like that, then. "If you say so." She glances over to where Thor waits for them both. "Are you coming? You should come. They want you to, you know."

"I'll be along later."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Should I… do you want me to stop by tonight?"

"Stop by where?" he asks innocently. When she frowns, he raises an eyebrow. "Oh, my flat. I'm afraid I've relocated. Seems that building has suffered a rash of break-ins."

"Where did you move to?"

He just smiles.

Figures. "All right, keep your secrets. Just tell Thor where you live, at least."

"I've given him a number where I can be contacted. He'll have to be satisfied with that."

That's… actually an enormous step. "Good." Jane briefly debates the merits of giving Loki a hug, but his body language couldn't be less welcoming, and anyway Thor is watching. "Well, okay. I'm going to—"

"I'll not tell him."

She blinks. "What?"

Loki lays a hand on the tombstone for half a second, then pulls it away just as quickly. His whole body shudders and suddenly he can't look at the coffin. "My brother will never hear from my lips what passed between you and I," he says. "If you decide he needs to know, that is your prerogative, but he won't hear it from me. You have my word."

"Are… are you serious?"

"I just swore on my mother's grave, Jane Foster. This may be the only time I've been serious in my entire life. Tell Thor I'll come around later. Now, if it's not too much to ask, could you leave me be?"

She wants to praise him for letting go of what might be the best opportunity he's ever had to hurt his brother.

She wants to smack him for acting like he's alone in the universe when he's got a family ready to welcome him with open arms.

She wants to…

There are too many things she wants to do, and as very few of them make sense or work well together, she decides to just do what he asked. She leaves him be.

* * *

Thor gives her an indecipherable look when she comes back to him and takes his hand. "Is he coming?"

"He said he'd be by later."

"Ah." Thor squeezes her fingers as they walk towards the car. "It's been… good, with him. For the last week. Given the circumstances, anyway."

"How about your dad?"

"Less so, but I think a miracle would be necessary in that case. It's enough that he's around. We've even spoken about the past. A bit. My brother is still in there, I think."

"You need him. And he needs you."

"Yes."

Something settles in Jane.

Thor looks down at her, and smiles sadly. Resignedly, actually. "And what about you, Jane? What do you need?"

What does she need?

Jane glances up at the sky.

"I," she says, "need to go home."

* * *

That night, after _Blackadder_ and a whole lot of vodka, when Jane opens her laptop to take one final glance over her essay, she notices there's a second file sitting in the folder.

_Term Paper [corrected].doc_.

She reads it over. There's no changes to the central premise. It's everything is what she wants to say — everything she believes — but edited to be ten times more convincing. Someone might actually be _persuaded_ by this.

It's top-notch work.

And at the end, there's a note.

_You'll not get anywhere if you don't accept the possibility that Heisenberg might be right._

Jane stares at it for a few minutes, then double-spaces down and adds:

_I'll think about it._

* * *

The next morning, when she opens the doc to print it out, both notes have been deleted.

She turns in the paper as her own without a sliver of regret.

It was a stupid class anyway.

* * *

_**A/N**: Next chapter's the last one, guys.  
_


	15. Chapter 15

It's _Darcy_ who decides to stay.

"I met this guy," she says as Jane boggles at her. "Name's Ian. Took me like three weeks to remember that, which made it kind of weird in bed—"

"I didn't need to know that."

"—but I thought maybe I'd stick around for the summer. Get some milage out of him. And I've totally mastered this driving in London thing, anyway, so it would be kind of a shame to waste it."

"_Mastered?_ You keep running over curbs."

"Better than running over people." Darcy takes a break from stacking textbooks to give Jane a quick hug. "If you don't have a new roomie by the time I get back," she tells her, "send me a text. You keep things interesting."

That's one way of putting it.

* * *

She spends her last night in the country with Thor.

Jane's never had goodbye sex before. It's a concept that doesn't seem like a particularly good idea in principle. But then, she's never had someone to say goodbye _to_, so what does she know?

And, like everything else, Thor's great at it.

"Are you mad at me?" she can't help but ask. They've naked and have the covers thrown off and the windows open, but Jane's still covered in sweat and trying to catch her breath. She's going to miss this. She's going to miss _him_. So much.

"Of course not."

"There's no _of course not_ about it. Everything that's happened — how things are right now — and I'm just… _leaving_. It's selfish. You have every right to be angry."

Thor brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her palm. "I knew it was a long shot," he says. "And what good could result if you stayed and regretted the decision? I'd be as unhappy as you."

Jane can only shake her head. "You're too good to be real, you know."

"It's your doing, Jane. And I will always be grateful for it."

Jane's still not sure she believes that. However Thor used to be — and she still can't imagine he was as bad as everyone says — it sounds an awful lot like he started rethinking things well before she ever came along.

Sounds like it happened right around the time Loki left, actually.

She wonders if either of them are ever going to realize it.

"And besides," Thor continues, "I'll not be alone. I have friends… and family."

True. And Jane's still not sure how she feels about that. She _thinks_ it's a good thing. Depending.

She hasn't seen Loki since the funeral. He didn't turn up for the final exam.

This is dangerous territory, but… "Will you tell your brother goodbye for me?"

"Have you not heard from him?"

"No."

Thor plays with Jane's fingers for a moment before saying: "He is in love with you."

_Maybe, somewhat, in a weird, unbalanced, Loki kind of way_ is the most accurate response to that. But what she replies is: "I know."

"Did you…" Thor takes a deep breath, then looks at her with those frighteningly honest blue eyes. "Were you aware of how he felt before the party?"

Oh, _such_ dangerous territory. "Yes," she whispers.

Honest, _earnest_ blue eyes. "How much is there to this story that I haven't heard?"

She could tell him.

She could.

But she won't.

Jane cups his cheek and looks him straight in the eye. "There's nothing else," she tells him. "I swear."

And never, in all the years to come, in all that comes to pass, does she doubt she did the right thing.

* * *

Before she leaves in the morning, she tells Thor how much she'll miss him. He tells her he hopes their paths will cross again. She winds up running late because they make love one last time in the back of his car.

* * *

Heathrow is a really bad place to be behind schedule.

Especially when one is trying to catch an international flight.

Especially when one spends twenty minutes trying to find the right security line.

Especially when one spots a person one really, really wants to talk to — sort of — lounging against a wall next to said security line like he doesn't have a care in the world.

Of _course_.

Jerk.

Jane checks her watch, weighs her options, recognizes it would be incredibly stupid to leave the line just as she's about to make it to the metal detector, and ducks under the rope anyway.

"Just a minute," she tells the guard, who frowns at her.

"You'll have to go to the back of the queue."

"Yeah, I know."

Loki looks completely unrepentant as Jane makes her way through the crowd towards him, getting hit in the shins by luggage more than once. "You really had to wait until _now_?"

"I've been here for ages."

"Then why didn't I see you?"

"I grew bored, so I went to get a pastry. _You're_ the one who's late." Loki looks her up and down, a smirk curling the side of his mouth. "I see my brother was very _thorough_ in his farewell."

Jane glances down at herself. "Oh, God, is it that obvious?"

"Only to me."

"I'm serious, Loki, I'm about to spend eight hours on a plane, and if I smell or something—"

"There's nothing that would be noticed by anyone who hasn't had you in the past. So unless you've been even busier than I realized and happen to be sharing the flight with another man — or woman — that you've been—"

She smacks him.

His smirk is now positively wicked. "There. I _knew_ there was some reason I hovered around a security station for three hours."

"There is something so incredibly wrong with you."

"Don't go."

Jane frowns. "Excuse me?"

"Don't go." Loki says it like he's not doing anything more than suggesting which beer she should pick at whatever pub they're studying at for the night. "Stay."

"I—" What? "I already said no."

"You said no to _Thor_, after I spent a great deal of effort manipulating him into making the request on my behalf and believing it was his own idea. There are occasionally merits to the more direct approach. Stay."

"Oh, my God, you pick the _worst_ times for these things."

"Possibly. Stay." His smug, disinterested expression hasn't changed in the slightest, but something flickers behind his eyes. "I would appreciate it if you did."

For half a second — just half of one — she considers…

…before shaking her head. "No, Loki." She says it as gently as possible. "No."

There is a very long pause.

And then — and _then_ — that familiar grin flashes into place. _Yes, I am an unrepentant liar, that will never change, and I dare you to stop me._ "Damn. I see I really _will_ have to find an entirely new method by which to torment my brother. Have you no consideration? Nothing else will ever measure up."

Oh, for the love of— "You are the most _awful_ person in the entire world," she snaps. "And if you don't lay off of Thor I will come back here and I will kick your ass."

"You _do_ realize what an incentive you've just provided me."

"Then I'll send Darcy after you. I'm not kidding, Loki. At all. You don't have to be a completely different person, but you don't have to be cruel, either. And your mom wouldn't want you to fight."

He shrugs. "She wouldn't exactly be shocked," he says, but there's a tinge of concession in his tone.

That's about the best she's going to get. And she knows it.

After a moment of hesitation, Jane stands on her tip toes and quickly kisses him on the cheek. "Look after yourself," she says awkwardly. "Or let Thor look after you, or… just be looked after, all right?"

"Well, heaven knows I wouldn't want Jane Foster to lose sleep over my well-being."

"Thank you. Because I would."

He blinks at her.

There's really nothing else left to say. She heads back towards the security line — she is seriously cutting it close with this flight — and doesn't look to see if he's gone. She doesn't want to know.

Then she hears him curse — loudly — and call her name.

Oh, come _on_. "I'm going home, Loki," she says exasperatedly, turning around, "and so should you—"

He's right there. Holding her passport in front of her nose.

She reaches into her purse instinctively.

Nothing.

He stole her passport.

_He stole her passport._

_"You stole my passport!"_

"Yes, but I'm giving it back."

"But you _stole it!_"

"And I'm giving it back."

"Do you have _any idea_ what would have happened if I—"

"Of course I do, which would have been the point, and is also why I'm giving it back. This is a first. You should feel very special."

Jane snatches her passport from his hand. "I hate you," she tells him.

He smiles. "Would you believe me," he says, "if I said I've decided I'd rather you didn't?"

No.

Yes.

Maybe.

"I don't know," she tells him. "You're incapable of sincerity, Loki. I'm not sure you even know what the truth _is_."

He leans in. Close. For a moment she thinks he's going return her kiss on the cheek, but instead he brings his lips close to her ear. And he whispers: "Until we met at the restaurant, I really, truly, honestly had no idea you were with Thor."

When he pulls back she can only stare at him. "I can't tell if you're lying or not," she says.

"And I suppose you'll just have to live with that, won't you?"

Then he's gone.

When she shows her passport to security, she sees that written across the stamp — the very first stamp she's ever had, too — is a phone number. And below that, in spiderweb handwriting: _In case you're defeated by yet another class._

She has to run to catch her plane.

* * *

It's not until after takeoff, when she pulls out the first of her three Sudoku books bought especially to keep her busy on the trans-Atlantic flight, that she discovers every single one of her pencils are gone.

That _asshole_.

* * *

When she gets home she checks her email. She passed the class.

And Jane Foster, extremely jet-lagged future astrophysicist, stargazes until dawn.

* * *

_**A/N**: __So… this happened. __I never expected this DRABBLE to get much of a response, so I'm greatly humbled by those who stuck with it to the end, angst and indecision and drabble-style and all. Thanks, guys._


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